How to eat your carbs - a self acceptance practice

by Megan

How do you practice radical self-acceptance for a version of yourself you'd rather not be?

Megan moodily rolls out her leg

It's a question I've asked myself a lot lately as I've bartered with accepting my recent reality of a broken leg.

Obviously, the broken leg wasn't in my plans (ew, change) and to be honest, is deeply inconvenient as a busy person who uses her body fairly constantly. 

The accompanying days and weeks since the initial injury have me constantly navigating the deeply human experience of needing excessive amounts of help and rest (and wrestling with my ego to be able to recognize and accept that).

Sounds simple enough, but if your brain is painfully independent and really loves control, you too might find yourself unable to recognise the need for help or the ability to slow down.

You might even say you're “fine” and dismiss the need for assistance from an unknown medical professional (ew, strangers) instead opting to walk on what will turn out to be a broken leg.

In my defense, being vulnerable feels awful.

From @shaegy.

Our brains try to protect us from pain - both emotional and physical. You could say I was being stubborn, but that isn't quite accurate; brains in pain function with different priorities and within a different window of tolerance. 

Perhaps you do have the awareness of needing help and the ability to accept it logically - but what happens emotionally as you adjust to this shift in capacity, autonomy, and needs?

It's easy to say and even believe that it is okay to ask for help. It's another thing to suddenly need assistance to complete tasks you have performed independently for over 35 years, like bathing and putting on your underwear, or just being able to move unassisted without pain.

And then there's the compounding experience of requiring ongoing assistance with these previously accessible tasks for days and weeks at a time.

Truly, a humbling and dysregulated time.

Recent conversations with my nervous system by @lousydrawingsforgoodpeople.

Radical acceptance 

In our house we have a saying; “Eat your carbs and get over it.” An inside joke turned into a playful but effective acceptance practice. 

It's the idea that if you ordered spaghetti but got served ravioli, you may as well enjoy the pasta on your plate and a full belly. 

To “eat your carbs and get over it” is a practice of mindful attunement to the present and a reminder to adapt. This little phrase “eat your carbs” helps me remember to practice radical acceptance. In this case, coming to accept the situation for what it is: I'm on the bench for a while.

Sometimes acceptance means feeling out big feelings and noticing discomfort, which are both practices of mindful noticing. The “get(ting) over it” part comes in letting go of what I had planned and releasing my need for control.

A visual representation of being present while waiting for change. From @shaegy.

And because it's all a bit silly, I usually feel like a stubborn little kid throwing a tantrum - an important reminder that I don't have to enjoy the experience of radical acceptance.

I've been eating a lot of carbs lately. Literally - because cheesy bread is delicious and an ideal comfort food- but especially figuratively. This season requires a lot of digging deep for me as I navigate discomfort (both emotional and physical) while leaning into some of my less developed skill sets, like patience and prioritising rest. 

This little but mighty carb hailing slogan promotes a practice of radical acceptance that has become a near daily mindfulness practice.

Not because I'm super enlightened (in fact the opposite) because of my monumental resistance to being a version of myself that requires help and rest. I also suddenly had a whole lot of time on my hands to practice.

Good company

me and Leia resting

Somewhere in the embarrassing amount of hours I've recently spent scrolling online recently I found a reel with spoken poetry exploring the commonly self-imposed and self-limiting expectation of being “Good Company”. The poet expressed the oh so familiar sentiment of being hesitant to show up and allow ourselves to be seen and accepted when we feel less than our best selves. The fear that a vulnerable version of ourselves isn't welcome, even among our friends. 

Then the poet spoke right through my resistance and to the heart of the matter: “I don't want friends that are good company, I want friends who will keep me company”.
What a rebellious act of love and acceptance to allow all versions of ourselves to be seen and known, even the uncomfortable and resistant parts.

The poet spoke of the experience of feeling less than enough in their own hard times juxtaposed against the privilege of supporting friends through their hardships.

Polly and Leia supervise rehab

I thought back to sitting in the ER repeatedly telling my partner to “stop wasting his time and just go home.” Except he wasn't wasting time, he was busy caring for needs that I was too busy wishing I didn't have. 
We all want authentic connection, our bodies are literally wired for it. As seen in our nervous systems, we are designed to optimise our health by co-regulating when we interact. But our communities work like this too, we come together to lift those in need, we want to share, help and connect. Shame, vulnerability, fear all tell us that we will be alone, but allowing ourselves to be seen is the heart of connection. 

When I think of my friends I don't care to have good company. I care to have authentic connection, and ultimately “...friends who will keep me company”. I want my loved ones to come as they are, unapologetically.

Somehow, radical acceptance seems much more accessible when it's about accepting others than when it is just an inside job. 

Waiting to leave the ER

It is a gift to be able to witness our friends' growth and challenges, and a privilege to get to love someone through their various seasons of life.

Remembering this has helped me soften some of my edges around receiving care.

And for edges, I haven't yet been able to soften, I am so grateful to have friends who love and support even the version of me that feels weird about needing help.

I suspect this isn't experience isn’t unique to me. Hopefully not the broken leg part, but the feeling that for many of us it’s hard to make space for the vulnerable, weak, and hurting versions of ourselves. In trying to sit with those parts we might find ourselves full of resistance and deep sighs. Yet if our friends asked we would move mountains to help bring them comfort, support and safety.

besties keeping me company

I'm certain that your friends want to know you, and they want to love you. Especially when you aren't your best self and would not be “good company.” And even if you too are resistant to that idea, you might find there are people eager to love the parts of yourself you’d rather not have to manage.

Even if sometimes it feels vulnerable (eat those carbs), what a gift it is to have people we can be vulnerable with that create a sense of acceptance for all versions of ourselves, including ones we’d rather not be. 

flowers from friends who brighten my days

It hasn’t exactly gotten easier to need so much help and feel so restricted. But I have had an endless amount of time to sit with that discomfort recently and practice asking anyways.

Despite this whole ordeal being something I absolutely would have preferred not to have happened and have been actively trying to mitigate the effects since it did, it sure has taught me a lot about myself.

Mostly, I find myself slightly softer to these more vulnerable parts of myself and overwhelmed with gratitude for a belly full of carbs, and a room and heart full of people who loved me anyways.