Addicted to Doing; Fear of Being

In the past, meditation retreats made me quite anxious. I didn't fancy the idea of spending so much time doing nothing.

From childhood, I was a person who ran through life and pushed through the obstacles. I enjoyed having a destination to run to and loved exerting myself while getting there.

It didn't matter where I was and what I was doing. Inside, I was always running. (One might even think I was running away from something, maybe even from myself, who knows...)

Being relaxed and not needing to perform or achieve?
Are you kidding me?
No, that's not me.
I need to be busy with something to feel safe.

And even on a meditation retreat, I can pretend I sit there all relaxed, but inside, I am getting out of there even though I planned for a year how to get to that retreat.

My era of "achieving" ended abruptly when I hit burnout so severe that, for weeks, the only thing I could do was sleep and cry. Ironically, I crushed from running a meditation school. I believe I should get extra credit for burning out exactly 2 months after teaching a retreat on burnout. Turns out, teaching retreats doesn't automatically grant you immunity to exhaustion.

After driving myself to the ground, I was so incapacitated that there was no other option but to slow down and face my worst fear - of doing nothing.

My husband and I decided that I would take at least 3 months off any work. It was in the middle of the summer, so every morning, I would drop my kids at a summer camp, grab my water bottle, and head off into some Pennsylvania wilderness to feed myself on beauty.

I would go on extensive runs and hikes, tears and sweat rolling down my cheeks. One day, a field of wildflowers caught my attention. And suddenly, it hit me, "I can spend the next hour just being with these flowers because I have nowhere else to be.
I have nowhere to go.
No one needs me for anything.
The world can keep going without me, and I am allowed to slip away."

Terrifying freedom.

Then I tried to walk, and it was as if I suddenly turned 95 - I couldn't move faster than a couple of steps a minute. My body dropped into a different dimension where time and space were made of thick honey.

For the first time in my life, I felt safe just being. There was no need to run anymore, so I dissolved into pulsating stillness.

Life forced me to face my strongest, almost primordial fear, "If don't do anything useful, I have no right to exist, no right to be in this world. I must always justify my existence."

I was left with no option but to give in and surrender. Until, suddenly, I came onto the other side, unharmed. And there it was, waiting for me - an extremely friendly Universe. A new, exciting, and inviting frontier. I was starting to learn how to love myself as is and be as is, without the need to change, modify, or fix anything.