Adventure Avoidance Addiction

The Chamber

The chamber is perhaps 12sqm. I am on my own, away from civilization, on the African continent. To be precise, I’m in Gabon, not far from its capital Libreville. Surrounded by greenery: trees, scrubs, grass and, since it’s the beginning of the rainy season, mud, plenty of creepy crawlies: mosquitos, ants, spiders, and the lizards that eat them.

To my joy there are birds too. They come in handy as their beautiful songs will announce dusk and dawn, once my time keeping device is no longer available for orientation.

I’ve been stripped of all comforts: bed, blanket, shower, chair, toothbrush, brush, mobile phone (and its entertainments), most foods and drinks, my beloved nail polish, clothes, friends, boyfriend, clients, work, pilates. It’s simply me, no frills, no distraction.

I wear a tunic, have a mattress, a pen, and a journal. This is a sacred space and there is a strict protocol to adhere to.

I’ll be here for a week.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, I sleep a lot, I’m waiting, for time to pass, to get it over with. I’m bored, impatient and on day four noticeably edgy. Uncomfortable childhood memories surface. Not merely the memories themselves but more disconcerting, the emotions intertwined with them. Unpleasant to say the least. I begin to pick my cuticles. Two start to bleed. I’ve not done this since my teenage years.

During the second consultation on day four, I crack. I cry, like a child and share that I’m scared. It took some prompting. Defiantly and secretly I had condemned this whole exercise as a “waste of time” and “stupid idea”.

“Scared of what?” the shaman asks, warm smile on his face. “Of what?” This is a strange question. To me it’s obvious. Wouldn’t everyone be scared in a situation like this? Alone, in discomfort, no distractions, no plan, or explanation. Apparently not.

It takes me a while to find the words: “My thoughts, being alone, losing my mind, getting traumatised, spiders, my fear and…the pain. But mostly that it won’t stop, and this experience will irreversibly damage me, that I’ll be doomed to walk through life with a nervous system stuck in crisis mode. Forever.”

“Forever this” is precisely what overwhelm feels like for a child.

After the two-hour consultation, I decide to keep going. Go back into the room, fear in tow. There were moments of realization that despite the discomfort and strong urge to escape being here was my choice. I experience glimpses of profound insight, deep inspiration and utter wonderment too, but they don’t always come in pretty packaging. I’m aware I have a pattern of running and so decide to push through.

My body hurts and is weak, yoga is no option. What else do I have at my disposal? Breath work, I count my breath, I meditate, hum a little, draw, write and rest my legs up against the wall to calm my nervous system. “Get into homeostasis.” I only get instants of respite. The emerging memories too strong, the emotional pain too potent. “Is this safe?” I notice a restlessness, an urgency, a strong desire to get away, get out, to numb, to not feel. I decide to focus on that.

The image that emerges is a black hole, at the center of my chest. This hole could suck in everything in existence, yet it would never be satisfied. Or so I believe.

In our lives we do not often reach this point, do not get to experience, who we are when thrown into utter discomfort, in isolation, without distraction.

Not seldom when clients (especially the ‘workaholics’) receive their initial homework of “one-hour-of-doing-nothing” they gasp in disbelief: “ONE HOUR?” Most have never done this. A daunting challenge.

Well, I’m in the chamber without distraction for DAYS on end. “And this is only the preparation for the actual ceremony.” I remind myself.

Gaping hole at the center of my chest, the intensity of the discomfort is hard to describe. I want out, but the only path out is in. The feelings, a mix of fear and guilt, are tough to endure. I stay. With the yearning, the need. The moment I focus my attention on it to my surprise I’m not gobbled up, but instead the force of the gravitational pull lessens. I remain present a few more moments and its barely even noticeable. Once I decided to stay the discomfort dissolves. I repeat this process many times.

Heavy rain is pattering on the corrugated iron roof. The sound drowns out all else and carries with it a cleansing energy.

I wonder whether the rain will drive more spiders into the building, the loo specifically. A square in the wall occupies the space where the window should be. Anything could crawl in. I do not know then that I won’t fear sharing a “bathroom” with them any longer at the very end of this retreat.

WHY? You might be asking yourself. Why put yourself in such circumstances? I’ve asked myself the same question. Once it all was over, even wondered whether the experience had left me with PTSD.

Why take any journey? Go on any adventure? I hadn’t anticipated this particular adventure to turn into such an ordeal, but once there, I wanted to see it through.

The Shadow

Apart from experiencing a profound, surprisingly authentic spiritual connection and some of the most mind scrambling synchronicities, there is a compelling argument to be made for NOT avoiding. Specifically, the parts we want to avoid. How present can we be in our life, and with the people we love, when we continually turn away from our wounds?

According to psychiatrist Phil Stutz, the shadow is the version of ourselves that we want to hide from the world the most.

And whilst ideally, we’d love to bury our demons and resort to more pleasurable things, the shadow needs our attention. Otherwise, and oftentimes unbeknownst to us, it will ultimately pull the strings to our life.

We realise the shadow is at play when seemingly unrelated and distinct situations suddenly reveal a striking familiarity. In psychological terms, when there is a consistent underlying pattern, even if the external circumstances or appearances vary.

Avoidance thus means taking the long path. It is shying away from going there, directly, promptly, and instead taking detour after detour. Avoidance is movement away from the thing we want. It is lowering oneself into muddy waters, distancing ourselves from truth and spiraling into confusion. It is the elephant in the room we pretend we do not see. We can lose years on avoidance. What begins as a coping mechanism becomes a lifestyle and ultimately our identity.

By avoiding the shadow part, we are lead astray, farther from integrity and towards insecurity. The more often we avoid, the more insecure we become. We lose trust in our word, with ourselves and others won’t take us seriously either. Yet most likely we won’t know this, as we avoid that painful realisation as well.

Avoidance is setting ourselves up for delay, disappointment, and roadblocks. Anti-flow.

Whether we avoid taking an action, speaking a truth, or feeling a feeling, when we avoid, we are out of alignment. Eventually we pay for avoidance with our energy, creativity, and waste precious life force.

Avoidance is a suitable and sometimes necessary tool to circumvent discomfort, such as physical or emotional pain. We avoid because we are not prepared to experience a suffering. This avoidance of suffering may not be a conscious choice but rather unconscious coping behaviour. Procrastination for instance is always about short-term mood repair. When we procrastinate, failure becomes rewarding (neurophysiologically we experience relief through deciding not to do an anxiety provoking task).

The Addiction

The more sensitive we are, the more likely we will avoid experiencing uncomfortable emotions. Continual avoidance may naturally lead to addictions. According to renowned physician Gabor Mate MD, addiction does not begin with the substance or behavior we are addicted to but rather with the pain, we are unprepared to feel.

Whether we use substances (alcohol, drugs and food) or behaviours (validation seeking, sex, love, working, shopping, scrolling, running, binge-watching, gaming) the outcome, whilst being a workaholic is socially more accepted and has no direct dire physical implications as those of a human being addicted to drugs and alcohol, it is similarly detrimental. Workaholism invites increased risk of heart disease, dementia, Alzheimer’s, and heavily strained personal relations.

Studies show that workaholics have distinct neurological and psychiatric profiles like those addicted to narcotics. The same studies also show that workaholism masks anxiety, intimacy issues and low self-esteem.

The avoidance of discomfort is a downward spiral as we become increasingly disconnected from ourselves. We focus on the external and temporary pleasures, to soothe our pain within.

When our shadow embodies the core belief that we are bad, unworthy, or unlovable, it might drive us to compulsive validation-seeking behaviours like pursuing success, fame, sex or love to prove our goodness, worthiness, and lovability. Despite our most innate desire to love and be loved, our actions tell a different story. Struggling to embrace true vulnerability and thereby exposing and integrating the shadow parts, we resort to seeking shallow, short-term admiration instead, ultimately preventing deep, loving bonds.

The initiation experience varies for each individual. In my case, the moment I stepped onto that plot of land in Gabon, my shadow came out to play, stared me in the face and didn’t leave my side. Out in the open for everyone to see, it invited me to dance.

To be continued …

This article appeared originally on Medium.