WRITTEN UP IN SERVICE OF YOU, THAT YOU MAY BENEFIT FROM MY LAPSE!

The Golden Moment of Opportunity Between Trigger and Temptation…

I often tell my patients who struggle with addictions, compulsions, and general bad habits that there exists a golden moment of opportunity juuuuuuusssst before ‘acting out’, where we can rescue ourselves from destruction... I labour this point with them because it’s imperative that they know it exists. This moment is their power. When they know about this golden moment, they can seek it out.

And, in learning to sense it, they can step into it and learn to rise to its occasion, and its power.

In this moment, we can really show up for ourselves, and learn to resist and withstand as the absolute best version of ourselves. If we catch ourselves in this moment, and win in it, not only do we resist self-harm, but we achieve mastery. This is empowering, causes self-esteem to soar, and creates a wonderful victorious momentum for the next round of struggle.

The first time we notice this moment, do “the work” in it, and succeed, it’s a little like
levelling up in a video game!

Today I experienced that golden moment.

But I screwed it up. 

I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had been thrust (unfairly!) by life into that no man’s land between trigger and temptation. I felt the wisdom of my essence - and the better I know - descend upon me, beckoning me to plough through the emotional charge and to neutralise it. Coaxing me to my higher truth.

But I didn’t do the work.

I knew the exact moment in which I was supposed to take action. To take myself in hand.

But for some reason I didn’t.

I didn’t plough through.

I flunked in that moment.

(And while I will be the first person to forgive myself, and troubleshoot for a better outcome next time, it’s useful for me and for you that I tell the story, so that we can both learn from it).

Here’s what happened:

I’d been having a particularly good day. I’d slept well and woke full of energy. I’m ‘on the up’ from a bit of a creative slump that’s ailed me for several months. I consulted a few patients. I had an online meeting with my IT person and strategic mentor.

I whizzed through month-end billing, which is often a ball-ache of note. Then there were a couple more patients. I actually kept mentioning to myself what a good day I was having.

In keeping with the flow of productivity, I decided to pop to the bank, to collect a credit card. I drove up the road, parked my vehicle, and danced inside. It’s a branch I don’t often frequent, and I wasn’t quite
sure where to go on arrival. To the right, there were ‘tellers’, and about six people waiting their turn. And then directly in front of me, ‘customer service’. A sign informed me that ‘card collections’ was one of the services on offer in this section. And I was quite pleased to see that there was no queue there, and
an attendant in waiting behind the counter.

I waltzed up to him, feeling merry and light.

I greeted him cheerfully.

No response.

At all.

He just stared at me.

I didn’t understand what was happening. He just stared at me, completely deadpan.

“Hi, I’d just like to collect a credit card”, I said.

No answer. Just the deadpan.

“Uh… uh… what do you need from me?’.

And then he finally spoke, with a vicious tone that confirmed what I had registered in his face.

“I’m busy here. I can’t help you. Go over there”. Motioning to the longer queue, that was not labelled ‘credit card collections’ as his was.

He was so flippant. So dismissive. So venomous, almost…

(Had he said, “I’m terribly sorry, but much as it looks like I’m available, I’m actually not; I’m attending to an urgent query. Would you mind though queuing over there, you will be assisted”, I would have
been content. But that’s not at all what he said).

And so I spoke up… Gently, somewhat softly, I said to him, “I feel that you are being quite rude to me…”.

“Really?”, he spat, “how would you like me to speak to you?”.

(Now blow me down with a feather, but I’ve also been in client-facing roles in my day… As a grocery store teller, for example, had a shopper told me that they perceived me to be rude, I would have fallen all over
myself to repair whatever rupture I might have caused).

But no; “How would you like me to speak to you?’, he asked. Rolling his eyes. Pouting. Deadpan.

Stunned, I just turned and left.

Such a hateful interaction from someone whose job is to serve. Such hatred on sight, it would have seemed. I didn’t understand it at all. But it caught me unawares.

I’ve been known to be a snarky bitch on a bad day. But I know with utter conviction that nothing in my demeanour this afternoon would have been in any way hostile or provocative, to warrant, justify or explain
this treatment.

And so, I was blindsided, and extremely rattled.

(After leaving, I ran a few further errands in same mall, and then returned; I really still wanted my card. I tried to make contact with a manager, but it was a junior standing in for management, so my concern
fell on deaf ears).

So, I left the centre, triggered. Emotionally charged. Feeling quite assaulted. 

I experienced a home invasion last year, during which four gunmen accosted my housekeeper and I in my home. My first encounter with the thug who attacked me personally was to stare into his deadpan face as he pointed his weapon at me. I’ve often told people how that stare into his face felt like an eternity, as all the truths of the moment downloaded into my consciousness.

I think this same cold, unempathic face staring blankly at my own touched that nerve.

As did the injustice of being the wholly undeserving recipient of someone else’s revoltingness.

I am a bit of a human shock absorber. I do feel people, quite deeply. I can protect myself from this if I see it coming. But today I really just wanted some polite, courteous banter and my credit card!

My Golden Moment, Imploded.

I can tell you the exact moment on my drive home that I had my ‘golden moment’ between trigger and temptation… I knew I hated the feeling state that I was in. All stirred up and activated. I knew that my
downfall would be to throw my healthy eating out the window for the day and use sugar and carbs as a medication to quell the rushing tide of un-ease inside me.

Sudden un-ease with the world.

In this moment, I thought to get home and prepare for myself an almond milk cappuccino. This is both soothing and nourishing and would have been good for me. I would have sat and sipped it, slowly exhaling
and releasing that horrible interaction. Letting it go, distancing myself from it, deciding that I would not allow myself to be affected or derailed by another person, let alone a stranger. I’d had such a good day, prior! (It’s so very interesting that on the day of our home invasion, I’d also been having a noteworthily good day until I turned around and saw a gun pointing at my face. And I remember having a distinct thought of how upsetting it was that such a great day might now be derailed by trauma and the need for recovery).

But I didn’t, on that drive home, COMMIT to the almond cappuccino and self-soothing.

I felt the need to change emotional gears and step up, but I also felt the temptation to unravel and decline into a feeding frenzy. I felt myself to be at a crossroads, with mindful, ultimately growthful self-soothing to the one side, and compulsive acting out on the other.

But I didn’t commit. I didn’t LEAN IN. I didn’t command and demand my next action, as I should have.

Ambivalent, triggered and charged, I wandered into my home. To be bombarded with a table-full of baked treats. I kid you not. My mother, visiting from another town, had seen fit to adorn my kitchen with chocolate brownies, muffins and cakes. Utterly ridiculous, in retrospect. If I believed in a devil, I’d view him as being alive and well in my life this afternoon! All resistance crumbled, and, if I’m honest, there was little
resistance, as there was little decision! I reached for a brownie and savoured it. It was delicious. But in the way that a drug would be. It dissolved the tension… I cut a slice of banana bread and ate that as well. And I think there was even half a muffin before I walked away…

Since my weight loss surgery, I don’t ‘binge’ anymore…

Mostly because it’s anatomically impossible. And largely because I’ve recovered from that level of dis-ease. I can stop now. And reclaim a day. But it’s not the volume of food that’s important, or even what the idiosyncratic acting out behaviour is. For some it would be an anger outburst, a bottle of wine, some
online gambling, a complete emotional shut-down. And it’s not even that it was sugar an carbs that matters…

What matters to me is that it was compulsive, and that it was medicinal.

The objective of ‘use’ was to alter my emotional state; to shift a feeling. To shove down the overt sense of being vulnerable, threated, assaulted, attacked, insecure and fundamentally disliked.

And that is my concern, and why I feel I let myself down.

How would I do it differently, if the same thing happened tomorrow...? (With the benefit of this reflection…).

I think I would lean harder into my golden moment in the car.

I think I’d realise my ambivalence about choosing self-soothing over compulsive state-altering, and address it head on.

I think I would acknowledge the short-term benefit of a micro-binge over the long-term benefit of doing this pivotal work, and setting up a domino momentum going forward.

I’d speak to myself, even out loud, and say something lovingly stern like, “What happened in there was really not ok, and not at all your fault… But you have the emotional capacity and wherewithal to ride this
out, until the feeling passes”.

I would DECIDE how I want to proceed. And then I’d COMMIT to that decision. Before I even parked my vehicle back at home.

I’d have made my special beloved almond cappuccino, and I’d have breathed deeply and reflected on what happened.

I’d have tuned in to the feelings it had stirred up in me, of trauma and assault and injustice. And fear.

And I’d have seen the cakes, and known, as I know most days, that they are far more delicious when they are incorporated in an eating plan, when they are factored in as a treat, and when they are enjoyed for the
art form that they are, rather than used as a mind and emotion-altering substance. I’d probably have viewed them as the inanimate objects that they are, the same way that I disregard most of the junk that finds its way into my home.

I might have journaled.

I might have blogged.

I may have meditated, soaked in a bath, played with my kids…

And I’d likely have written a different version of this piece.

The afternoon was not a complete write off, to be fair… As it’s ended, now at 10pm, with this article, the writing of which has been of great service to me, and now my hope is that it serves you too. And
even from an eating perspective, I didn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. But I do know better. And I want better for myself. Not just for slimness and vitality, but for self-development, self-actualisation and really mature, robust self-mastery.