Another client with 15 years of anxiety.

Another cathedral of misunderstandings and bullshit explanations.

Another person left with hopelessness and confusion.

We talk about managing the threat of the unknown.

A full-time job.

How restlessness sets in (reliably), how everything cramps up (automatically), and the fight begins.

Totally exhausting shit.

And the perfect setup for more internal warfare.

And more.

We talk about how resistance seems to be there all the time, and how trying to overcome it doesn’t really do anything but make it even worse.

But what to DO instead?!

Always the same question.

Always the search for the ultimate doing.

‘The thing you seem to be so deeply afraid of, did it ever happen?’, I ask.

Of course I know the answer.

Caught in a hypnotic feedback loop, a vicious cycle, where the fear of being anxious has turned into a perpetual mobile machine from hell.

Day after day the same process plays out.

Nothing changes, at least not in a good way.

Another life in the mist.

‘Well, it’s not really a big problem’ I tell him, ‘it’s a tiny problem with dramatic consequences.’

And we discuss the most popular conclusions, like:

‘My specific disorder, my case, must be really bad because nothing I ever tried has helped.’

‘It will probably never end because it’s always there.’

And, of course, ‘it will only get worse, because that’s exactly what happened over the past years’.

These ideas are so painful and inescapable and persistent, and they seem so incredibly valid.

We talk about the mind, that elusive, invisible thing that seems to be both helpful and totally out of control.

It’s not the enemy, it’s just such an amazing, versatile creator of experiences that we get easily lost in the apparent reality it produces.

Exactly what makes all of this so rich, varied, and unpredictable.

So we explore it for a while, in broad, gentle waves.

There’s SO much to see.

And notice.

You can’t think yourself away from your thinking.

The intellect is a phenomenon, a concept, not a thing.

There’s not even a real human you, just a whole bunch of thoughts coming and going.

It’s not personal, even though that’s exactly how it feels.

And ‘life is beautiful, not because of specific content that needs to be perfectly in place, but just because of the compelling nature of what happens’.

Because of everything, really.

He relaxes.

Deliberately discarding the labels and alarm bells and perceived brain malfunctions and density of the topic, stepping away from his confusing experience that’s sucking the life out of his life, always clears the sky.

We went for a hike, and now we’re back.

‘How do you feel?’, I ask.

He reflects on it for a couple of seconds, his face giving away the upcoming answer.

‘Relaxed… but that’s not even really important’.

He smiles wisely.

I like that.

‘That’s pretty fucking deep, and you’re totally right’, I tell him, ‘… but it can’t hurt either’.

It’s a good way to end the morning.

—

(Photo by @ivrn, for Unsplash)