Jeremy Mohler

Writer, meditation teacher, and therapist-in-training

Uncomfortable conversations will determine your life’s path. Here’s how to have them.

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The pandemic — despite its horror and injustice — has had a few silver linings, one of them being that it’s forced us to have more uncomfortable conversations.

About whom to allow into our homes unmasked or — now — unvaccinated. About expectations. About personal boundaries.

I met my girlfriend on a dating app in the heart of the pandemic winter. When we talked about masks and social distancing for our first date, it felt like we were talking about condoms and STDs.

My shoulders tensed and my breath shortened. I was self-conscious about not appearing too careful but also not too careless.

I really think those early conversations helped us get real with each other faster than we would have otherwise.

We were able to practice setting boundaries and advocating for our needs right off the bat. We’re now more prepared for higher stakes conversations like when to move in together and whether to get a dog when we do. (My vote is “yes,” and it should be the best kind of dog, a standard poodle!)

That’s why what Tim Ferriss wrote in his book The 4-Hour Workweek is so true:

A person’s success in life can be measured by the number of uncomfortable conversations he or she is willing to have.

I’m not a fan of the notion of “success” — especially in our hyper-individualist capitalist society. But Ferriss’s point is that we grow substantially from the conversations we’d rather avoid.

Why we avoid uncomfortable conversations

Asking for a raise. Telling your partner what you want in bed. Being with someone who just lost their loved one. Confronting someone about their alcohol or drug use. Discussing STDs on a date. These types of conversations are going to bring up discomfort.

They’re going to trigger emotions like fear and anger. They’re going to put your body into fight-flight-freeze mode, pumping your nervous system with stress hormones, like you’re a prehistoric human facing down a saber-toothed tiger.

No wonder we duck and dodge them at all costs.

We people-please, trying to make someone give us what we want without us having to ask. We repress how we really feel until our resentment leaks out in little, petty, passive-aggressive ways. We blame and shame others for how we feel.

The common denominator is manipulation. We want people to feel a certain way about us. But we’d feel too much discomfort if we just said how we feel and named our needs outright.

We feel discomfort revealing our emotions because growing up we were told things like, “Man up. Boys don’t cry.” Or, “Don’t be too assertive, they’ll think you’re a bitch.” Or, “Don’t be too loud, you might get hurt.” Or, “Just keep quiet and work hard, you’ll eventually get everything you ever wanted.”

What if you just said how you feel and that’s it?

That’s why the antidote to the discomfort is honesty. Radical honesty. Clear, simple, vulnerable honesty.

Just say how you feel. That’s it. “I feel lonely.” “I feel sad.” “I feel angry.” Leave it at that.

No “you always do this” or “you always do that.” No blaming. No manipulation. Just say how you feel and let the other person take it in.

Better yet, borrow a tactic from the conflict resolution strategy nonviolent communication. Point to something the person did: “When you did X, I felt X.”

Don’t say, “When you do X…” or “You’re always doing X…” That will trigger them into not hearing you. Name a particular thing they did and how it made you feel. “When you changed the topic of our conversation, I felt like I wasn’t being seen and heard.” “When you stayed out late with your friends, I felt jealous.”

That way, you’re owning your feelings. You’re not blaming the other person for how you feel. But you’re also naming a boundary. “When you did X…” You’re giving the other person the opportunity to change their behavior rather than assuming they won’t without your manipulation.

If that person really values their relationship with you, they will get the message. If they don’t, it might hurt, but at least you know how they really feel.

Becoming more honest in your relationships will feel uncomfortable. But that discomfort is nothing compared to the chronic tension of trying to manipulate others into giving you what you really want — which never actually works.

As the poet Yung Pueblo writes:

Your relationships improve drastically and the tension in your mind decreases significantly when you can simply accept people for who they are instead of fixating on how they should change or be more like you.

Hi, I’m Jeremy, a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. Subscribe to my weekly email on how to be more mindful at your job, in your relationships, and when it comes to politics here.

Download my free ebook on how mindfulness can decrease your anxiety and transform your life.

Photo from PxHere.

No wonder you are anxious

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The life coach Katie Shannon (and fellow Baltimorean) recently wrote something on Instagram that made me stop scrolling and put my phone down.

“Anxiety is the price I pay for being my own higher power.”

I pay a high price for my anxiety. I’m almost always worried about something.

Most of the day, I’m either fretting about getting more work done. Or judging myself for having too little money or too much fat on my stomach. Or wishing I’d said something different. Or people-pleasing. Or craving something to numb out with, like caffeine, alcohol, weed, masturbation, or shitty TV.

There are times when I feel a relative peace, sure. When my body relaxes, and my mind’s chattering fades into the background. When what’s happening in the moment is more interesting than the content of my thoughts.

But only when I’m with the right person and they’re giving me the right sort of attention. Or when I’m traveling somewhere new and exciting. Or when I’m just drunk or high enough.

And that’s Shannon’s point. At least how I read it.

I don’t resonate with the concept of a “higher power.” So, I think of it as “something beyond myself.” Or simply, “connection.”

Anxiety shows up when we’ve lost connection and think we have to do something to get it back.

If we work a little longer, then we’ll feel fulfilled. If we drink another beer, then we’ll feel relaxed. If we post the perfect post on Instagram, then we’ll feel loved.

Like so many things, this all goes back to our first few years of life. To when we were a baby, dependent on our parents and other caregivers to care for our needs.

Somewhere along the way we lost trust that our needs would be taken care of. Which is inevitable. No parent can provide all of their child’s needs 24/7.

This childhood distrust carried forward into our adult lives and shows up in different ways for each of us.

Maybe you don’t trust in the natural unfolding of life. You‘re afraid you’ll be bored if you let things happen on their own.

Maybe you don’t trust in life’s natural abundance. You don’t believe that there’s enough love and connection for you.

Maybe you don’t trust in life’s natural perfection. You can’t see that everything is whole and complete even if it’s imperfect.

Maybe you don’t trust in life’s natural oneness. You don’t trust that everything is connected even if it appears separate.

The bottom line is you don’t trust that you are worthy of love, connection, and wholeness. So you feel you have make it happen for yourself.

The spiritual teacher A. H. Almaas writes:

You try to relax, you try to quiet your mind, you try to make yourself feel better or make yourself feel worse. You are always interfering, trying to make something happen other than what is actually happening. You can only do this if you believe you have your own separate world and you can make things in it happen the way you want, while really, it is not your choice at all. You are alive today not because you want to be, but because the universe wants you to be.

Side note: That’s what’s so fucking aggravating about this capitalist, patriarchal, white supremacist society we live in.

It runs on anxiety. It normalizes a frantic energy to always be doing. To always be working, investing, building your resume, starting a side hustle, buying things, grinding, working out, vacationing in beautiful places, doing, doing, doing.

And then on top of that, the rich and powerful use fear and anxiety to keep us at each other’s throats. They use racism, sexism, and other ways to divide people to keep us from blaming them (and the political and economic systems that benefit them) for our suffering.

Luckily, I’ve found a few practices that dial down my anxiety most of the time.

Meditating regularly. Going to therapy. Connecting with nature on walks and hikes. Learning about capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy. Organizing in my community and workplace. Helping out with mutual aid in my neighborhood. These things help me feel stable, fulfilled, and connected, not grasping as hard for the next distraction.

But it’s when I remember that I don’t have to do anything to be okay — that I don’t have to be “my own higher power” — that I feel a simple, basic peace that reminds of how connected with everything I truly am.

Hi, I’m Jeremy, a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. Subscribe to my weekly email on how to be more mindful about your job, your relationships, and politics here.

Download my free ebook on how mindfulness can transform your life.

Photo by Mariana Zanatta.

How I went from a burned out corporate employee to a slightly less burned out writer

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Spring weather. No masks for the vaccinated. It really does seem like life is returning to “normal” — at least in the U.S. and other rich countries.

But why am I still worn out? Why am I not excited for the rest of 2021 and beyond?

Why does it feel like there’s always more work to do?

Because of capitalism, duh.

Despite the Republican Party’s propaganda that anyone who is struggling to get by is lazy, Americans are a hardworking bunch. We work longer hours, have shorter vacations, get less benefits, and retire later than people in comparatively rich countries. We worship work so much that we even have “right to work” laws.

We’ve become even more addicted to our jobs during the pandemic. A recent survey found that we’re working two and a half hours more per day on average.

And that’s just the work that we call “work.” There’s also responding to emails, checking social media, doing laundry, cooking food, caring for friends and family, haggling with health insurance companies. All the stuff that feels like work but goes unpaid.

It’s all just so much — all of the time. It gives me a constant, nagging sense that there’s something I should be doing right now to prepare for the future. A guilt about relaxing even for a second.

There’s a name for this feeling: burnout.

Burnout goes beyond the stress of everyday life — the cracks and potholes in the road towards trying to live a decent life in this cutthroat, isolating, violent society. It’s a stress that won’t leave for days, weeks, or even years.

It has three primary symptoms. Emotional exhaustion — being drained from caring too much. Alienation — cynicism about things that used to be meaningful. And a decreased sense of accomplishment — feeling that nothing you do makes a difference.

Physical symptoms can include extreme fatigue, frequent headaches, and gastrointestinal problems. Mentally, burnout can show up as restlessness, an inability to pay attention, increased anger, and (literally) over 100 other ways.

That third symptom — a decreased sense of accomplishment — is what I’m most familiar with.

It feels like always there’s more to do, yet I’m often too exhausted to do it. Or at least do it as well as I’d like to.

In 2011, I walked into an emergency room in northern Virginia with blurry vision and a numb arm. After a night of tests, the hospital’s neurologists diagnosed me with a “complicated migraine.” A catch-all for “We have no clue what’s wrong with you.”

In hindsight, the hospital stint was my check engine light flashing. There had been warning signs, but I was too busy. Too absorbed in trying to make it as a musician. Too caught up in the hustle of working hard at a corporate job and partying harder with my band. Too worried about making other people happy, while ignoring my own happiness.

I was almost always exhausted. Yet I had a pestering sense that there was more work to do.

These days, I still work way too much, but I don’t feel that restlessness as often.

Or, more precisely, I don’t listen to it like I used to.

I’ve grown familiar with the part of myself that gets anxious about needing to strive, be productive, and improve. I’ve made it my friend. I’ve even got a name for it: Striver.

Striver is almost always whispering in my ear. But he’s especially loud in the morning and when I’m feeling unproductive, say, in the afternoon after lunch when all I want to do is nap.

But because he’s become my friend, he trusts me. He trusts me that I’m going to prioritize his needs by carving out time most days to do the work that matters most to me. He trusts that if I relax on a Sunday, I’ll be able to get back to the grind on Monday.

I earned that trust by first simply noticing how often Striver comes around. I became mindful of my striving.

Then I spent some time getting curious about where Striver came from. I meditated, journaled, and talked to my therapist.

I realized that when I was a kid, I got the message that if I didn’t work hard, I’d fall behind in life. And if I fell behind, I’d be a broke loser with no worth to anybody. In my little kid brain, falling behind was terrifying.

No wonder I can’t stop working. Everything seems to depend on it.

In other words, after changing my relationship to the part of me that feels I always need to be working, I’ve learned how to truly rest.

It’s not that I never feel burned out these days. It’s that I don’t listen to the stories that appear in my mind when I’m feeling burned out.

I’m not going to die if I go for an aimless walk. I’m not going to go broke if I spend a Sunday watching football. I’m not going to lose everyone who matters to me if I give my full attention to enjoying dinner with my partner — in fact, it’s the opposite.

Of course, we need our society to change for all of us to feel less pressure to work so much.

“Burnout is not a problem we can individually solve,” writes journalist Sarah Jaffe. “It is a symptom of the world we live in, which is set up to exhaust us to the point where we cannot resist.”

We need more unions and worker-owned cooperatives. We need more mutual aid efforts in our neighborhoods. We need to tax the rich to pay for public goods like universal healthcare. We need more socialists elected to public office (or at least progressives who want to dramatically regulate capitalism).

But in the meantime, we can do some inner work too. We can get to know the stories we inherited from living in this capitalist, patriarchal, white supremacist society. And we can change how we relate with the parts of ourselves that believe those stories.

Hi, I’m Jeremy, a writer, meditation teacher, and host of the Meditation for the 99% podcast. I’m here to help you be more mindful about work, relationships, and politics. Subscribe to my weekly email here.

Download my free ebook on how meditation can transform your life.

Photo by glassghost.