Sunday, May 13, 2007

Bates Motel Bates Motel On occasion, more often than I care to admit, Anxiety sets up shop in my stomach. Just saunters on in, brushing past the ineffective bouncer at the door and takes a seat where it darn well pleases. Most days I manage to quell its merciless influence on my adrenal glands, implementing a repertoire of relaxation techniques that stem the tsunami of cortisol flooding my system. The theory goes that at some point in my past, the ever-ready fight-or-flight reflex served me well in some capacity as a coping mechanism. At this point in my adult life however I am more than eager to bid it a fond farewell, along with a few of its step-siblings - Guilt, Lack, and, the ever-popular, Approval. Over the past five years, there have been numerous shining moments when a particularly potent tool in that repertoire of mine has so completely distracted me from the mafioso's grip that I've remembered what stress-free living feels like. And it's pretty darn agreeable, let me tell you. So agreeable, in fact, that the contrast of NOT living like that on a regular basis fuels my determination to do so come hell or high water. Another one of these mafia-busting experiences came over me again recently, and you can bet that once I realized what was going on that I initiated hyper-observation mode. What clued me in was the slow recognition of a strange sensation in my stomach - nothing. No tension, no hunger, not the need for a rest area - nothing. Huh. This is interesting, I thought. Granted, I was on my way home from a lovely weekend of R-and-R out in the country with my sweetie, but recovering from some upper-respiratory crud hadn't exactly set the stage for enlightenment. A few minutes went by,...

Deb Schanilec

Connected and Committed relationship transformation strategist.

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