Had a major freak-out session this weekend. A set-back. It wasn't pretty.
But here's the story: as I wrote in my previous post, I'd been working hard on cooking with raw meat. The first night with hamburger went relatively well. The next time was a lot worse though, I think because I'd had time to ruminate over what I might have done wrong the last time.... The third time was definitely no easier, but the fourth.... Well, let me tell you about the fourth.
I had decided it was time to thaw the roast Jem had bought a couple months back. It took several days to thaw in the fridge. I thought it was sealed from the store, but even so, I had it double-bagged because I do that with things I'm worried about, even if I'm sure they're sealed. Apparently I was wrong, which has only confirmed my fears about people handling un-sealed packages of meat and then touching other things in the grocery store, and putting the trays of meat on the belts where other food goes....
The bloody thing bled all over my fridge.
Panic. My voice rising with my fear, my prayers screeches of, "Dear God, I don't know what to do!" Tears. Pushing Jem out of the way. I have to do this myself. Shaking, crying. Paralysis. Then almost uncontrollable foot-pounding--it's an involuntary reaction of mine to severe mental anguish, sort of like someone might jump up and down from the pain of stubbing a toe, wring their hands after biting their tongue, or writhe during a contraction in labor.
Finally, some decisions through the fog. Wipe, wipe, wipe. Wash hands. Grab the rubbing alcohol. Wipe wipe wipe some more. More soap more water wash hands pour boiling water more alcohol. Splashes on the floor oh no more alcohol.
Jem, very wisely, very calmly, playing with our girl in the next room.
Finally, Jem says after about three hours (I don't remember time passing. It felt like 30 minutes and it felt like 30 hours), I breathed and walked out of the kitchen. Did laundry, had a bath, worried about getting germs from the meat into the bath and splashing from there onto the floor.... When I finally satisfied myself at least momentarily that I had cleaned myself and the bathroom well of germs, I got out, got dressed, and crashed on the couch, exhausted and dizzy. The rest of the day I barely had energy to read to my lily-girl.
But we had roast beef that night.
Now, days later, I'm still worried. What if I missed some of the meat juice? What if some of it dripped onto the vegetables and we didn't notice? Reddish-brown stains keep popping up to taunt and terrify me. And anything in the kitchen I don't specifically and clearly remember having cleaned with rubbing alcohol is scary to touch.
So, even though on the day of the roast, I really gave way to my fears and did a TON of OCD behaviors, I'm doing ERP now. I'm exposing myself to the fear that meat juice dripped on the vegetables, and we've eaten salad every day despite my worry. I don't bleach or use alcohol all over every single reddish-brown stain I see. And I keep using the kettle that I didn't clean completely, and I don't wash my hands after touching it, even though I worry about that for hours and hours until I can take my anti-anxiety meds and fall asleep.
My amazing psychologist, K., is working with me on a type of technique to deal with anxiety called mindfulness. No, it isn't Eastern meditation. It's just the concept that the best way to deal with negative feelings is to stay in the present moment. Anxiety usually keeps me focused on either the past or the future: worry that I did something wrong in the past, terror about what may happen in the future. Mindfulness grounds me in what is going on right now. So I acknowledge that yes, I'm anxious right now, but that the anxiety itself doesn't mean anything about reality. It's just a feeling. And a feeling can't kill me, or anyone in my family. So I stay with the intense feelings of fear, endure them rather than doing everything possible to get rid of them. I don't clean that stain and I don't wash my hands and I tell myself that I won't be anxious forever. My heart pounds and my stomach feels like it's tied up in tangled fishing line and my brain goes over and over the possibilities, imagining the spread of E.coli around the house. It's tough. No, it's brutal. But it works. As the days go by, I notice that I'm a lot less worried about that stain, that kettle. And then I realize that we haven't gotten sick yet, and it's probably a bit late now to get some horrible disease from a drip of meat... how many days ago?
Thanks be to God, Who delivers me from all of my fears (Psalm 34:4).
But here's the story: as I wrote in my previous post, I'd been working hard on cooking with raw meat. The first night with hamburger went relatively well. The next time was a lot worse though, I think because I'd had time to ruminate over what I might have done wrong the last time.... The third time was definitely no easier, but the fourth.... Well, let me tell you about the fourth.
I had decided it was time to thaw the roast Jem had bought a couple months back. It took several days to thaw in the fridge. I thought it was sealed from the store, but even so, I had it double-bagged because I do that with things I'm worried about, even if I'm sure they're sealed. Apparently I was wrong, which has only confirmed my fears about people handling un-sealed packages of meat and then touching other things in the grocery store, and putting the trays of meat on the belts where other food goes....
The bloody thing bled all over my fridge.
Panic. My voice rising with my fear, my prayers screeches of, "Dear God, I don't know what to do!" Tears. Pushing Jem out of the way. I have to do this myself. Shaking, crying. Paralysis. Then almost uncontrollable foot-pounding--it's an involuntary reaction of mine to severe mental anguish, sort of like someone might jump up and down from the pain of stubbing a toe, wring their hands after biting their tongue, or writhe during a contraction in labor.
Finally, some decisions through the fog. Wipe, wipe, wipe. Wash hands. Grab the rubbing alcohol. Wipe wipe wipe some more. More soap more water wash hands pour boiling water more alcohol. Splashes on the floor oh no more alcohol.
Jem, very wisely, very calmly, playing with our girl in the next room.
Finally, Jem says after about three hours (I don't remember time passing. It felt like 30 minutes and it felt like 30 hours), I breathed and walked out of the kitchen. Did laundry, had a bath, worried about getting germs from the meat into the bath and splashing from there onto the floor.... When I finally satisfied myself at least momentarily that I had cleaned myself and the bathroom well of germs, I got out, got dressed, and crashed on the couch, exhausted and dizzy. The rest of the day I barely had energy to read to my lily-girl.
But we had roast beef that night.
Now, days later, I'm still worried. What if I missed some of the meat juice? What if some of it dripped onto the vegetables and we didn't notice? Reddish-brown stains keep popping up to taunt and terrify me. And anything in the kitchen I don't specifically and clearly remember having cleaned with rubbing alcohol is scary to touch.
So, even though on the day of the roast, I really gave way to my fears and did a TON of OCD behaviors, I'm doing ERP now. I'm exposing myself to the fear that meat juice dripped on the vegetables, and we've eaten salad every day despite my worry. I don't bleach or use alcohol all over every single reddish-brown stain I see. And I keep using the kettle that I didn't clean completely, and I don't wash my hands after touching it, even though I worry about that for hours and hours until I can take my anti-anxiety meds and fall asleep.
My amazing psychologist, K., is working with me on a type of technique to deal with anxiety called mindfulness. No, it isn't Eastern meditation. It's just the concept that the best way to deal with negative feelings is to stay in the present moment. Anxiety usually keeps me focused on either the past or the future: worry that I did something wrong in the past, terror about what may happen in the future. Mindfulness grounds me in what is going on right now. So I acknowledge that yes, I'm anxious right now, but that the anxiety itself doesn't mean anything about reality. It's just a feeling. And a feeling can't kill me, or anyone in my family. So I stay with the intense feelings of fear, endure them rather than doing everything possible to get rid of them. I don't clean that stain and I don't wash my hands and I tell myself that I won't be anxious forever. My heart pounds and my stomach feels like it's tied up in tangled fishing line and my brain goes over and over the possibilities, imagining the spread of E.coli around the house. It's tough. No, it's brutal. But it works. As the days go by, I notice that I'm a lot less worried about that stain, that kettle. And then I realize that we haven't gotten sick yet, and it's probably a bit late now to get some horrible disease from a drip of meat... how many days ago?
Thanks be to God, Who delivers me from all of my fears (Psalm 34:4).
