Microdosing Positivity

​If I do not embrace the crazy, constantly changing, ever evolving chaos that is my life, I know what the results are. They are dark, dismal, completely enveloping and will swallow me into a pit of despair. Sounds dramatic, I know… but that’s because it is. It does not take much for my mood to shift from feeling perfectly positive to feeling perfectly dreadful. It can be really exhausting.
 
During all of the years that I have been doing work on my personal growth, one of the most important things has been to recognize that those moments that start feeling so painful that they will actually end me this time are lying to me. They do not tell me the truth of my experience. The truth is, life is f*cking hard, man. Some of us, especially those who are highly sensitive and empathic, can take on such a heavy emotional load that it feels like too much to bear. And unlike some people, I do think we are given more than we can handle sometimes. In those particular moments, I allow myself to shut down and go into survival mode because that is the best I can do, and that is good enough. I do not feel shame anymore for just getting through the day. I heard someone say recently that if the best you have is 20% of yourself to give today, and you give 20%, you are actually giving 100%. I like that idea, because it stops me from entertaining the inner critic that falsely asserts I am never enough.
 
My therapist recently challenged me to practice what she called “microdosing positivity.” When something good happens to me, she asked that I make it a point to stop and acknowledge how that physically feels in my body. I have spent so many years focusing on what feeling bad is like that feeling good is actually far more unnerving. Like anything else, it takes practice. When the part of me that is my protector shows up to seemingly self-sabotage me, she asked me to try to learn to love and embrace it for what it is trying to do instead of becoming irritated and attempting to shut it down.
 
Recently I had an experience that felt so good, so wholesome, so aligned with my soul and my innermost hopes and desires. Naturally, my immediate reaction when I thought back to it was to activate the protector, who just knew that it could not possibly be as good as it felt. There had to be a catch. There was no way this was going to be meant for me, no way that it would stick around. And because the situation has present limitations that are outside of my control and cannot evolve into the things my heart wants, the protector started working overtime. It began erecting walls of steel to guard my fragile heart. It told me to completely discount the experience because the outcome cannot be what I want it to be. OF COURSE this was too good to be true. OF COURSE it would be nothing but another disappointment. I went from feeling the highest of highs to a full on dopamine crash. I could feel those walls getting higher and closing me in, just like they always do. I could not talk to anybody. I began to withdraw into the illusion of safety that is my insulated cocoon keeping me away from danger.
 
The thing is, that cocoon also keeps me away from experiencing what I really most desire – connection and intimacy. I have watched it happen over and over. I experience what feels like even the slightest hint of rejection, and that little child inside me who was so brutally abandoned and unloved latches on to the protector for dear life. My reaction to anything outside of my own expectations is often majorly disproportionate to the actual situation.
 
It was no different this time. When I communicated with the person who resurrected a part of me that I thought very well might be dead, and it was clear that there was some continued spiritual work and growth for both of us before we could be the versions of ourselves that both each other and the world deserved, it was very difficult for me to hear “not now” and interpret that to mean anything but “not ever.” When it comes to matters of the heart, I am not what I would describe as patient. I become almost like a child excited about a new toy – I want what I want, and I want it NOW. A very mature and spiritual reaction, I know. But that protector just wants to avoid the suffering that has kept some of the most beautiful parts of my soul hidden. I understand why it happens. I have spent a lot of my life hurting, and I want to avoid more suffering.
 
I also know that if I want another outcome for my life, I have to start taking different actions, and that includes in response to my own instinctive defense mechanisms. I took some time to feel sad, disappointed, and release my chokehold on the need for instantaneous results. I decided to try that microdosing of positivity my therapist told me about. I closed my eyes, placed my right hand over my heart, and brought myself back to that moment I would normally try to avoid for fear that it would forever disappear. I pictured the scene where it happened. I noticed all the details around me – the dim lighting in the room, the sheen emanating from the television, the softness of the blanket against my skin, and the warmth of a body so close to mine that I had not experienced in so long. I asked myself, what does this feel like? I recognized the fullness of that aching hole inside that rarely allows, or even recognizes the need for, any company. My stomach flipped and quivered against the butterfly wings circulating around its edges. The weight of anxiety that I wear like a cloak almost all of the time was lifted. And, much to my surprise, I did not feel any fear. I felt seen. I felt safe.
 
I have had many experiences since then that completely removed me from that safe place. Sometimes, I have been so far removed that I forgot the safe place existed for a time. But somewhere, buried though it might be, I know not just that it was still there - I know that it will always be there. No matter what happens or does not happen in the future in relation to this person, there is nothing that can change that moment that gives me full-body goose bumps.
 
Because I am not actually delusional (even if it feels like I can be at times), I do not believe that people are perfect. I do my best to no longer place people onto pedestals that will eventually crack and crumble beneath the weight of my expectations. I do believe, however, that moments can be perfect. And regardless of what comes next, no one can take those away from me except for me, if I allow them to self-destruct out of fear they will never return.  
 
I cannot count the number of times I have placed my hand over my bruised but healing heart in the past week, gazed downward or softly closed my eyes and drew that experience back in. Every single time I feel the outward edges of my lips curve up into a faint smile. The world gets lighter, my chest tingles and the flutters dance. That moment was perfect, and it was mine. Nothing can take it away from me. I imagine I will have many more like it in my life, but for now, I am grateful for it to be a reliable anchor in the unpredictable waters around me.
 
When the tides feel rocky and the ground shifts under my feet, I can always come home to my heart. There, I will always be safe.