Little Fists Solution
Friday we changed locations, following the oil rig to the other side of town. The fog was more monstrous than I thought it would be. When we left the rise, merging with oil boom traffic and headed into the lower regions, the mist gobbled us up and disguised the nether regions of the ditches. The familiar inner voice started harping: “You didn’t ask anyone else how bad it was this morning. You didn’t think it through well enough. You should have known better. You.. ” My hands tightened as fear gripped me.
At once, I saw my mom’s hands on the wheel. I used to sit beside her on the bench seat of our 60s station wagon studying her white knuckles on the wheel, wishing I could drive. Her lips would be drawn in a wrinkled knot and I dared not talk. Occasionally she had to get her wedding ring straightened — from gripping the wheel so tightly.
That flashback made me realize what I was doing. I stretched my fingers on one hand, then the other.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Please.” Acceptance felt good. At once, I wasn’t so afraid, but we were still in danger. I wasn’t pretending there was some kind of ‘silver lining’ in the white nothingness.
“Give me the courage to change the things I can.” Whatever that might be — a really large turn around off the berm? Would I even see it? No. So I got the wisdom to know the difference. This was going to be 15 miles of praying for the serenity to accept the fog because the first chance to pull off the road would be in town.
The little fists were gone. I was OK. It’s just habit — making little fists. It is. Today I’m confessing a white knuckling resistance to ‘what is’. Some days I’m cruising in my big girl panties but some days I’m not. I may actually be driving in the fog of southern Texas pulling a fifth wheel with my dually, but inside I’m making little fists.
Little Fists happen when I start to criticize myself. It can shape-shift into blaming others, rebelling against reality, railing on the unfairness of things… My little fists within pound against what is. It just is, Heidi! I need to accept that in order to be OK. Sometimes I can choose to change something, then I need courage to admit it and to take action. Either way, I need to pause and assess the reality of my predicament.
Opening the Little Fists looks like this:
- Admit I’m experiencing Little Fists
- Pause
- Pray the Serenity Prayer
- Accept reality or make a decision to change something.
Nothing complicated here. In fact, it’s so simple a lot of people just naturally cope without a lesson in step-by-step unfisting. Not me.
~
What does your critical voice sound like or feel like?
Debbie– Today’s Thanksgiving and you’re one of the reasons I’m so thankful that He rescued me from myself. I like your ‘internal stomping’ metaphor. Thanks for commenting on this. We’ll continue to learn acceptance and learn gratitude, yes? Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Plato said :
“This City is what it is because our citizens are what they are.”
Many think it was those words that evolved into our idiom: “It is what it is.”
I’ve come to the place where I say that to myself often when I feel my fingers begin to curl. That’s the beauty of the Serenity Prayer. Once I’ve changed the things I can and prayed for wisdom, I do need to accept what I can’t change because – it is what it is.
All of my ruminating or internal stomping about does nothing to alter it and only magnifies what might otherwise be brushed aside or given over. Had I learned this lesson you’ve shared much earlier in life, I might not need Prilosec every day!
Great word picture, Heidi!
Judi- What a kind thing to say. I really only post what works for me and that doesn’t mean any one thing will work for everyone, but at least I get the opportunity to share. Thanks for pulling up a seat!
I still do that too. The negative feelings or self-talk come and some days it seems I gave them an overnight invitation but they no longer get to ride free! Tools are helpful but only when used. Thank you for sharing so many great ones.
Caddo–Surely you know I also need instructions. I write to myself a lot and it keeps me honest about my struggles. So, fellow struggler… know I’m here and I’m knowing you’re here because you spoke up. The communication here in the way of comments is an encouragement for me, too. Thank you for helping me.
Lori–Thank you for stopping by. Always good to know you’re here!
Cathy– Very interesting and vulnerable comment. Thank you for giving us some idea of the struggles you’ve had and your insights. I used to experience so much reaction to negative events that I called it a ‘buddy burner’ in my gut. I just realized that going from that to ‘little fists’ is a lot to be thankful for, isn’t it? I like your solution of being mindfully aware of Gods’ love and grace. Thanks for the visit, Cathy.
Debby– It’s helpful to me to name the feeling and give it a metaphor. Recognizing the reaction instead of either riding along with it or fighting it is the first step for me to stop the chain of reactions. That was a ‘hairy’ trip. I will be much more hesitant to drive in fog next time on these narrow roads where the speed limit is 70+ on everything hard surfaced, it seems. I drove with my flashers. I’m not sure that’s even legal, but it made me feel a little more visible. Not all bad, it gave me a chance to analyze my situation, I guess. Thanks, Debby, for the encouraging words. I do really hope it helps you to think of those little fists, too.
Little fists–I love it, Heidi. I, too, can see my mom’s hands and lips/face–it is her voice that the enemy always uses, that’s how I recognize the devil. I’m one who needs instructions, so thank you muchly. God bless you–Have a Happy Thanksgiving! love, sis Caddo
Nice post, Heidi. Glad you made it safe.
Excuse me could you move your chair over just a bit so I can see just a little, there, that’s good. Oh, no this is just fine, I don’t want to be out front. I’m good, thanks. (thinking to myself, “little” fists you say? )
I wish that were all I had. I had an entire arsenal, huh! mine is more like verbal slayings with deep cuts on the inside from internal rage at others (like: what the @#%$ are you thinking, you dumb*^*()*?, can you just stop being so selfish, hurry up geez, get the… out of my way, will you just make a decision, why dont they mow the grass more often?, quit being so critical, help someone you’ll feel better just get outside yourself). I blamed God and others. I had no clue I had choices.
The list goes on, if you gave me something I could sling it back faster and with more force. I won’t even dare you to try. I was good at self destruction. I resisted everything! Except helping others. That took me away from seeing my reality. When I would start to get close to reality the weapons came out with huge white fists, the battle was always too fierce for little fists.
My critical voice was the above fore mentioned. What I slung at others either audibly or in my head was actually at myself. I then went on to abuse myself with eating and eating and eating, not buying myself things I needed til I absolutely had to, taking care of others til almost the point of death. Living corpse. Reality meant death. Shame.
I thank God for Alanon. I have put myself through a lot most of which I had no idea I was doing. Talk about a reality check.
I can say much has been healed and still doing so. My critical voice is now a normal tone and kinder. Those that know me say don’t be so hard on yourself, true, but from where I have come from it’s a miracle. I recognize my resistance much sooner and try to change the attempt at criticizing myself and others before it gets too far. Now it may show up as physical pain ( from subconscious tensing various parts of my body) or being paralyzed at attempting to do something.
I move ahead by taking care of myself now through being mindfully aware of Gods love and grace to show me how to love myself and others as I keep slaying the dragon.
Wonderfully descriptive, Heidi. I always need those word pictures. Yes, I had those little fists going into last week. It was needless. I knew that but couldn’t relax my hand until the moment was upon us. I’m going to try to say those two words next time that comes “little fists”. A mental cue to pause and assess.