Fear, cartoon gallbladders, & the roles we play

You know how an ordinary comment or question --- if it comes at just the right moment --- can unlock an entirely different, deeper response than you could have anticipated or that the question itself really warranted?

I spent the past weekend in tears (necessary, cleansing, healing tears) because someone in one of the communities I participate in asked in what ways fear shows up for us. And maybe because of where I’m at in my healing journey, that inquiry opened up some of the fears on which I’ve based my entire life. Abandonment wounds that had partially healed came out on little-girl feet to tell their story once more. Existential Claustrophobia, that mighty dragon, raised his head and sniffed the air, reminding me that he was still there, poised to fight, flee, or freeze at the first intimation of involuntary confinement. And beneath those, running in the background like an app insidiously draining your device battery by its very existence, was the pervasive humming dread born of generational and birth trauma and supported by lived experience. The dread of the possibility that no matter how much I value myself and my story and my self-expression, it will never translate into something of value to society at large.

Like The Awkward Yeti’s character, Gallbladder, it seems that I pour myself into projects with all the joy and verve and creativity I have within me, presenting my soul’s gift proudly to the world, only to be met with dismissals encompassing everything from, “is that the best you can do?” to “oh, that’s nice but I’m not interested,” to “what were you thinking?!"

I’m not immune to the individualistic idealism that says, “who cares if no one likes it, just do what lights you up.” And I would love to live in a world where that was a sustainable choice. But since I’m not independently wealthy and we’ve yet to institute Universal Basic Income, I am forced to acknowledge that my survival depends on creating something that others value enough to part with their hard-earned cash. And despite my best efforts that has proved elusive, both in the traditional workforce and as a small business owner.

But I’ve digressed.

At its core, none of this has anything to do with the fear itself.

That’s just the story I tell to justify the fear, as though fear requires defending. (Against what?)

The fear is rooted in a sense of separation. Buried in the heart of it lies the idea that there is something so profoundly wrong with me—only me—that it threatens my survival. That idea - that one fallacy - manifests in my life in myriad ways. But it is only that. A story. A lie.

In this case, I can refute that story using my own analogy. The Awkward Yeti’s Gallbladder character was so popular that Nick Seluk fabulously wrote a reverse cholecystectomy to bring him back. Ah...That. Someone turned my biggest fear into a crowdpleasing character. Gallbladder is relatable. And if that's true, then my feelings of inferiority can hardly be unique to me. They are just another quirk of the human experience. Of course, if sound logic were all that was required to root out fear, we wouldn’t be human, we'd be robots. But I’m no longer in the business of letting fear live rent-free in my body.

Funny thing about it: when you really dig into it, fear is always a form of resistance - to what is, to what was, or to what we think will be. It’s a subconscious argument against a range of outcomes we want to avoid from discomfort to death.

Releasing fear is about saying yes to - and accepting - the thing we’re afraid of.

And no one is saying that's easy. But it is possible. In this case, it’s about confronting the brain gremlins that say things will always be how I’m accustomed to perceiving them.

There are many ways to do this, of course.

I’ve heard that some people have luck reasoning with their brain gremlins. Mine are unruly and don’t listen. So instead, I give them what they want. I let them play out their big, tragic story and allow myself to feel the feelings attached to the experience that they (the brain gremlins) are so afraid will happen. And I say to them, “yes, it will be just like that. And..?” And sometimes that’s the end of it. More often, there is an “and” - another fear based on the first - so we repeat the cycle as many times as it takes until the gremlins and I have played out the absolute worst-case scenario. When we get there and I say, “yes, it will be just like that. And…?” and there's no counterargument, then the fear no longer has a hold on me. Because at that point, I have already faced the Big Bad and shown myself that either it doesn't really matter or that I can handle whatever happens.

(Please note: For many, this might be best done with the support of a professional or trusted friend, but I've been at this for a long time and have made myself a safe container to do this level of work).

There is another level to this though, and I’m getting a little esoteric here, but please bear with me and I’ll try to bring it back down to earth.

I’ve been playing with nonduality and the idea/experience that the whole universe is ultimately one expression of energy, whether you refer to that as awareness, consciousness, Source, the Universe, or any other concept of divinity. In this paradigm, any apparent differentiation can only be of form and function rather than essence. In other words, we’re all made of stardust. And if you’ve seen the joke that continues, “but so is garbage so calm TF down,” I might argue that maybe that’s also the point. And that value judgments in this system are a distinction without a difference.

Without going too far down that rabbit hole, we’ll stick with the implication that we’re all aspects of Oneness and our job is to play our role to its fullest. The other (admittedly, more challenging) implication is that "good" and "bad" are concepts that aren't tied to fundamental Truths but to social constructs and each role - whether we consider it hero or villain - is as necessary as the next. (That's a topic for another day but please indulge me for a minute).

By this logic, if my role is to be the Gallbladder, then the only problem is that I think things would be better if I were not.

Say, for example, I'd rather be something sexy, like the pituitary gland. Problems only arise if I keep trying to do the work of being the pituitary gland instead of surrendering my insistence on being something I'm not, embracing my role, and simply being the best "Gallbladder" I can be.

And that's only disempowering if you think there's something inferior about the role of the gallbladder, rather than celebrating the diversity of roles that, combined, make a functioning human body. Humanity as a whole -- the Universe as a whole -- is no different. And once you recognize that we're all out here doing our best, playing the roles that seem best to us based on the experiences we've had and the values we've developed based on those experiences... Well, then it's a lot easier to look at humanity and acknowledge that just as someone plays the role of the heart, the brain, or the left thumb, someone also has to play the role of the asshole. (Couldn't resist).

And the other thing I haven't mentioned… While my past may (or may not) have put me in the role of Gallbladder, there’s no rule that says the future won’t recast me as something else. Our lives take many twists and turns and maybe our job is to stay open to the roles that present themselves instead of insisting that because life has unfolded in a certain way up until now that it must continue that way. To quote one of my favorite childhood reads,

When I left Queen’s my future seemed to stretch out before me like a straight road. I thought I could see along it for many a milestone. Now there is a bend in it. I don’t know what lies around the bend, but I’m going to believe that the best does. It has a fascination of its own, that bend, Marilla. I wonder how the road beyond it goes—what there is of green glory and soft, checkered light and shadows—what new landscapes—what new beauties—what curves and hills and valleys further on.

– L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables