Actually, Rigidity is Not My Personality

Breaking down the illusion of control through trial and error and celery juice; growth as the unexpected outcome.

I’ve been going through a bit of a personality crisis. I’ll use that word lightly, crisis, as it is not so much a catastrophe but a period of growth that feels dramatic and important in my evolution of self. I worry that sharing this won’t be ‘relevant’; still, I trust in what the late psychotherapist Carl Rogers said, that what is most personal is most universal.

I have written before about my recovery from anorexia, which by now is a decade in the making and not something I consider very interesting to talk about. Many times I wish to pretend the eating disorder never happened; but, it is as much part of my life as any other part of my adolescence, and my subsequent recovery has shaped the outlook I choose to have on life and the person I continue to become.

I have recently reached what feels like a new chapter of this decade-long recovery; a chapter which feels perhaps like it was always going to come but which I never anticipated nor tried to make happen. Its title is something like: Actually, Rigidity is Not My Personality.

Like I said, this came as a surprise—for years, now, I have considered what I dubbed “self-discipline” (rigidity in sheep’s clothing) and self-improvement as a decent-sized chunk of my personality. Clearly, I talk a big game about self-improvement and feel I have taken the necessary prerequisites to do so: I steeped myself in that culture and have been experimenting with improving myself since I was a wee freshman in college, circa 2016. Self-improvement remains an organic interest of mine; while once that meant I spent as much time as possible “working on myself” in various ways, now it has morphed to mean that I try less to control life (and myself) and try more to…well, chill out.

Let me explain.

I have spent so much time trying to control myself. At age 12, the eating disorder became the focus of my control; I controlled my food, my weight, what I ate or did not eat, what I did to “burn off” what I had eaten. Anorexia, for me, was at least in part about controlling my emotions and coping with life, really. I struggled a lot with what ‘growing up’ symbolized; I wanted nothing more than to return to being an oblivious, carefree child. And so, for those reasons and others, I tried to control what I could, and once I started, I couldn’t stop—hence the disorder.

I eventually transitioned from controlling my food, body, and emotions through an eating disorder to controlling many other aspects of my life. In college, once I had committed to my recovery—as in, I did not want to die of self-starvation and actively worked to move away from that—I turned my attention to other things I could control. I controlled my routines; my habits; my food, again, via experimental diets (at one point, “salt-oil-sugar free vegan” was my diet of choice, which did not lead me to the glowing vitality that influencer promised me it would). I did rigorous, specific yoga practices and intense breathing exercises at 5:00 a.m.; I kept myself on a strict regimen of self-help books; I tried everything under the sun that would help me “heal”, an elusive goal that I vaguely imagined would mean that I felt good, whole, emotionally regulated.

When life felt difficult, I turned up the dial on my “self-help” rituals; I became more dogmatic about what I could or couldn’t do and implemented extra rules. I tried to control my first thoughts of each day (that sweet spot when you are waking up is the best time to reprogram your brain) and then monitored the rest of my thoughts in case they veered too negative. I tried to control how I felt; how I responded; how I looked, moved, breathed. I have spent so much time trying to manipulate my self and future while genuinely believing that I am being successful that I forget, often, that control is an illusion.

I want to impress upon any who read this that nothing I was doing—save extreme dieting—was inherently wrong or bad. It is not so much what I was doing, but why. Reading self-help books, going to meditation classes, saying no to seed oils, and trying to hypnotize yourself with your own recorded voice are not habits that are going to hurt, necessarily. In many cases, these things helped me, for a while. They served me, as they say. Even if their outcomes were enhanced by the placebo effect—I really believed they were working—the point remains that many of these things still worked. I am not suggesting that everything we do to make ourselves feel more in control doesn’t work at all—some things do, even if placebo plays a role.

I do not regret anything I experimented with. At the time, I really did need those things to keep me well. I was coming off of a long stint with an eating disorder and I did need all of these clear, sometimes strange, ritualistic practices to help me feel like I was in control. I needed the rigidity of my 12-step morning routine; the 16 oz of pure celery juice upon waking; the endless stream of wellness podcasts urging me to try just one more $65 a month supplement; the meticulous documentation of my thoughts and desires for my future. I needed and wanted to feel like I was doing something to be better, and that it was working.

A great big part of me actually really loved doing all of that stuff; all that stuff brought me to where I am now—right here. I don’t know if I would be here, now, if I didn’t do all of what brought me here. Not in a morbid way, either—I just mean that if I had not thrown myself wholeheartedly into the self-help/wellness world as I had, I don’t know if I would be where I currently am in my life. I’m grateful to be here, now. I don’t want to be anywhere else.

What here, now has also brought me is a little bit of an identity crisis—the realization that the (illusion of) control I have relied upon for my entire adulthood is no longer working. The rigidity that made me a very good anorexic and a very good self-help girl is no longer helping me be better, anymore. In fact, allowing rigidity to creep into my life, as it still often does, makes me worse.

For the past year or so, I have had an extremely hard time doing any of my typical self-help projects on myself. As in, I don’t want to do them. In the same way that I don’t want to starve myself as I did when I had an eating disorder, I don’t want to try to manipulate my mind, body, and future by performing specific habits and routines in the name of “self-help”. It isn’t that I’ve lost willpower, I’ve lost the will to actually do these things. I now experience visceral disgust at the sound of any influencer or self-help guru selling me their version of false certainty via their online course, herbal supplement, or 10-step-to-freedom “program”. Everywhere I look in the self-help world I see bad advice and people trying to market the idea that we can control our lives and selves.

Again, here’s the thing: some self-help works. It’s usually the super basic stuff that does the most for you: eating well, moving your body, not dwelling in negativity, surrounding yourself with people you love, doing satisfying work, investing your time and energy into activities and experiences that bring fulfillment, meaning, and purpose to your life. It’s true, yes, that we do have the power to alter our perspectives and make necessary, empowering changes to our lives.

And yet. A lot of self-help, as I have experienced it, is a combination of trying to control life, trying to control our unpredictable bodies, and trying to escape the unavoidable, scary reality that we are actually not in control, that uncertain outcomes are a given.

So, while I was once soothed by trying to control my environment and body, I no longer am. In fact, I reject the impulse to restrict myself by holding myself to mentally constructed rules or standards that I think are making me a “better person”. Rigidity and control are not my personality—and I no longer want them to be.

When I say rigidity, I’m not talking about the self-discipline you employ to wash your face when you really don’t want to, or to stay away from habits that genuinely are bad for you. Rigidity, as I have experienced it, is a kind of desperate grab for control. Rigidity manifests as forcing myself to do things because I think I should; because I am afraid at what will happen if I don’t. It’s a guilty, sneaky, scared energy that is distinct from self-discipline, which typically includes doing things because you respect yourself and value your health, time, or commitments.

While being rigid about my routines served me in the past…it no longer does. Every couple of weeks for the past year or so, I have felt an overwhelming urge to restart some of my old “self-help” patterns and push myself to do more. As soon as I try to start, my whole being resists—I want some breathing room, my body screams. I want the space to be here, instead of mentally planning for a better future over there. I want to stop trying to control myself—I want, instead, to be present for the life that I was so carefully trying to avoid by implementing so much structure into it.

I want to experience the kind of growth that comes with less structure and control, not more.

And that’s the craziest part—as I’m experimenting with relinquishing control, I’m still growing. I’m still, dare I say, becoming a better version of myself. A version who isn’t as uptight and neurotic about the rules she imposed to make herself a “more evolved being”. A version who is more flexible, adaptable, and responsive to this present moment—not what I wish the present moment would or could be, by casting manifestation lists for the future and monitoring my thoughts for negativity.

The way I really want to live is here in the moment; responding my way through; feeling my way through; using discernment as to what to do next. I’m here to experience life, not get lost in attempting to orchestrate it to my liking.

In what may be the wildest lesson I have learned thus far—I’m actually learning and growing without all of that self-help stuff that supposedly was trying to get me there. 6 years ago, I never would have believed it was possible. One year ago, I wouldn’t have believed it.

In the next era of whatever evolution of self you are on—try relaxing as a self-help method. Try chilling out, being easier on yourself, and not trying so hard to manipulate your future. It’s actually out of your hands. Go build something useful with those hands instead of grasping for control or certainty.

Onward, with much love,

Maggie