Discomfort: Monster or Mouse?

A friend who is struggling with emotional eating was telling me that she has determined many of her triggers for discomfort. She was grateful that now she can avoid those situations that make her want to eat. She called herself a “comfort junkie” with no tolerance for discomfort. She also mentioned that she didn’t feel safe in the world and felt anxious often.

I could identify. I spent 15 years trying to avoid uncomfortable feelings or comfort myself with food. I felt like I was at the mercy of the monster of discomfort. Sometimes it would creep up on me like an itch I couldn’t scratch and other times it would jump out as a surprise attack. It reminds me of trying to keep balls underwater. Discomfort is a part of the human experience and unavoidable at times.

I told my friend that when I began to discover the positive power inside me, the monster started to shrink. Eckhart Tolle talks about becoming the observer of your thoughts. Paramahansa Yogananda writes about the idea that we are not our bodies, or our thoughts. As I’ve become more aware of the God energy inside me, I’ve become more detached from my discomfort. I am more tuned in to the power and peace inside than the discomfort. I am not afraid of discomfort anymore, nor do I go out of my way to avoid it. I don’t welcome it but it doesn’t have the power to make me compulsively eat anymore. I told her that when I slowed down enough to listen, I had negative beliefs which created scary thoughts that would result in emotional eating. Since I’ve changed my beliefs about food (eating) and God, I ‘m comfortable in my skin most of the time. I’m still astounded that I can say that but it’s absolutely true. I lived for years feeling like crawling out of my skin, now it fits perfectly.

The best way for me, as an ex compulsive eater, to stay connected to my bellyful of bliss is to pay attention to it. How does it feel? Is it full? Do I feel energy moving, or any sensations? Does it feel heavy, solid, or fluid? Knowing that it’s already full of pulsing, vibrant, creative energy, I only eat when it needs food and stop before I bury it. Now I can say that the monster of discomfort I used to binge over has shrunk down to a benign little mouse. The mouse is scurrying around outside of me. It doesn’t live in my head or my body. I can watch it run around and hide, and even feel compassion for it. If I can stop bingeing over discomfort, so can you.