What I Learned Spending 3 Months Alone in Bali
Photo by Kristopher Roller on Unsplash
This is a long story. You might not feel like reading something long. But if you do, I promise you might learn something—whether it’s about me, you, or someone you love.
In the face of drowning, I call 911. I forget to look down and see, that upon my lap, are two paddles with my name etched in the handles. One made by me, the other by the lessons I’ve learned and the people who have guided me.
In the face of drowning, I call to be saved. I forget to inhale, and feel the life-jacket tied neatly to my chest, filled with the air from my father’s lungs.
In the face of drowning, I forget to swim like my mother taught me. One stroke at a time. Breathe, stroke, stroke. Breathe, stroke, stroke.
In the face of drowning, I wait to be rescued.
Until now.
About once a year, I have a mental health breakdown.
My first breakdown (that I can recall) was when I was 15 years old. My most recent one is probably right now. Yes, I am in the middle of a breakdown. But it looks wildly different.
When I was 15, my breakdown resulted in a full blown eating disorder. To cope with insecurity, anxiety, and paralyzing fear, I developed Anorexia.
When I was 19 years old, my breakdown resulted in a suicide attempt and three-day stay at a psychiatric hospital in New York City.
When I was 27 the breakdown included daily panic attacks and fits of rage that caused me to leave my graduate program and place of work.
Today, my breakdown includes getting up before 9, showering, feeding myself, and maintaining a basic level of social and vocational activity. I sometimes cry in the evening. Occasionally I drink too much or eat too little. I forget to journal every day, but I forgive myself. I call friends and family when I need to talk, and I ask for boundaries when I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m still in a breakdown, but I am managing it.
Year after year, my breakdowns included new and varying symptoms. If you look at the trajectory of the breakdowns above, they were improving: I went from using food and control to deflect and ignore the emotions to actually experiencing the intensity of my emotions. Sure, a suicide attempt might not seem like an improvement, but to me it shows I was actually feeling the feelings. I went from believing the only way to deal with those feelings was to die, to learning that having those feelings was a sign I needed to slow down. I see growth in the courage to leave a stressful situation in order to protect myself from feeling worse.
This is a far cry from breakdowns of yore, and I have spending three months alone, rescue-free to thank for it.
When I arrived in Bali last October, I had just spent 10 months riding a motorcycle with my husband through Latin America. On one bike, we drove from Seattle to Peru, spending every waking, sleeping, and eating moment together. For two and a half years prior to our trip, we had moved five hours from our hometown so I could work towards my masters degree in mental health counseling. We made some friends here and there, but for the most part, we were dependent on each other for company, for love, for support from anxiety or emotional problems...for everything. For over three years, it was just him and me.
My husband is, and always has been, a good man. He loves to take care of others--especially me. Whether that’s been making me coffee and bringing it to me in bed every morning, or researching every symptom on the internet to help me diagnose and cure my chronic digestive issues. When I’ve felt anxious, depressed, triggered, or overwhelmed, I’ve been able to call on him to soothe me, coach me, and support me in the exact way I need in order to overcome my feelings.
When I arrived in Bali, I was quickly faced with a harsh truth: I didn’t know how to take care of myself. I learned, that for years, I had been dependent on anyone other than myself to take care of me when shit got hard. And suddenly, I had no one to give me the answers. I’d have to figure it out myself.
I decided to go to Bali alone for many reasons. It was a decision my husband and I made together, and one we made out of love, respect, and deep trust in our relationship’s ability to survive time apart. It was not an easy decision to make, but I believe it was a necessary one--at least for me, in order to come to grips with the parts of our relationship that weren’t working, and the parts of my relationship to myself that had been lost.
Side note: This article is not about why we took time apart or the ins and outs of our relationship--I want to be very clear that these are my words, my perspective, and my experience, and I cannot and will not speak on his behalf or even on the behalf of our relationship without his voice or consent. This is about what I learned, by myself, and the trenches of my self-discovery.
I had made a commitment to myself and my husband that during our time apart I would not use him as a lifeline when I needed help. I made this commitment because I knew how easy it would be to call him if I was anxious, or ask him to research what the best scooter rental in Canggu is. And he likely would have helped me, because he’s a good man. But if I had, I never would have learned to do these things for myself. And I never would have experienced the overwhelming empowerment that came as a result.
Sunset on one of the first few days I was in Bali, probs post-cry and vegan ice cream sesh.
The first week in Bali I was a disaster. I cried daily. I questioned my decision to leave Peru. I fumbled through conversations, struggling to explain who I was, why I was there, and what the hell I was doing. How do I explain to a complete stranger in a hostel--who is ten years younger than me and drinking Smirnoff Ice--that my husband is in Peru, I have no idea what the FUCK I’m doing, I have barely enough money to stay here longer than two weeks but I bought a one way ticket, and I’m here to “be alone?”
For the next few weeks, I felt vulnerable, lonely, and anxious. I went to Ubud for a week and practiced yoga and sound healing. A renowned Indian guru did psychic/quantum healing on me, and I hyperventilated for 24 hours straight. I picked up the Brené Brown book my friend had lent me, read one word, and put it back down. I cried alone in a dorm room. Or maybe other people were there, I can’t remember. I picked up Brené again, read a second word, and put it back down. I had the attention span of a goldfish and the energy of a tapeworm (I really don’t know what the energy of a tapeworm is, but I imagine they move very slow).
I did everything I could to stay on top of my physical health. I ate well, didn’t drink, and stopped smoking. I worked out daily and walked everywhere. I went to bed by 10:00pm, and was up early to do my morning journaling.
Still, I wondered if I had made the right decision. I desperately wanted to call my husband for reassurance. Are we doing the right thing? Are you as freaked as me? Are you ok? Do you miss me? I felt lonely and scared and confused.
My money situation was also incredibly dire, and we were on the last thread of our year-long savings. I had just enough money to buy a plane ticket home, and maybe enough to last me two weeks in Bali.
What the hell was I going to do when I got home? What will we do? Again, I wanted to call him. To ask him what his plan was. How he felt about our financial situation. If he had a job plan or life plan. I felt like I was skating on ice, unable to slow down, unable to stop, reaching in every direction for something to stop me from slipping away.
Despite the intense urge to call for rescue, to reach out for reassurance or guidance, I didn’t. I skated--not so gracefully--and tried to slow myself down. I noticed I was spinning out less, and finding more balance. Still, I would hit a crack in the ice, and find myself once again flailing for support.
When the urge to call my husband faded, I noticed a new, equally strong urge. It was the urge to call my mom.
Woah.
When I couldn’t depend on my primary love-person for emotional caregiving, my brain immediately recalled its previous emotional caregiver: my mother.
Obviously I started journaling IMMEDIATELY. This is an excellent discovery! I thought.
Clearly, I’m not the first person to come to this conclusion. Attachment theory, Imago therapy, and dare I say--Freudian psychology--all posit that our present problems stem from problems in our relationships with our parents.
What I had discovered was less along the lines of a deterministic, Freudian theory, and more along the lines of, I’ve been dependent on someone other than myself for a lot longer than I realized.
You can call it co-dependence, you can call it insecure attachment, you can call it projection or regression or any fun therapeutic buzzword. For me, in that moment, it felt like I had uncovered a deeply ingrained pattern of dependence on someone other than myself to tend to and care for my needs. I felt like I had an opportunity to break that cycle, and I chose to dive headfirst into the abyss.
For the next three months, I noticed times when I had the urge to call my husband, my parents, and even best friends for support. I focused first on trying to solve the problem on my own. If it was too complicated or overwhelming to do alone, I asked for support. If I felt I was in danger (emotionally or logistically), I asked for support.
Otherwise, I took care of myself.
I stopped looking to be rescued, and started learning to paddle.
It wasn’t easy. And I flailed alot. But I learned. When I had panic attacks, I grabbed an ice pack and used the self-soothe skills I had learned in therapy. When I felt lonely, I let myself feel lonely, and used mindfulness and non-attachment to notice what it felt like to feel lonely (really fucking bad, by the way), rather than fight or judge it. When I felt myself falling into a depression, I outsourced to a therapist and coach because I knew having an unbiased, trained professional was necessary if I lost my way.
After a horrific crash in Bali this past summer, I was terrified to get back on a moped. I waited until I felt fully ready (one month after arriving in Bali this time), took lessons, and still didn’t go on the roads until I felt in my heart I was ready. This was something I don’t think I would have done in the past without someone else telling me I was ready—this time I listened to my own instincts rather than outsourcing for feedback.
I was using the skills I write about on this blog. The skills I tell my friends and family about all the time, but struggle to put into practice myself. I was giving myself the love and care I so often give others, but rarely give myself. I was breaking down, falling apart, laying on the ground in pieces and saying, “it’s OK Rachel, you can do this. You will not die. Be broken for a moment. Lay here in pieces. You will not die. You will put yourself back together, with your own glue, your own special recipe, your own magic fairy dust. You will not die.”
And as I did--as I put myself back together, piece by piece--I knew I couldn’t do it alone. So I started to re-visit the idea of asking for help. How could I do this on my own, without crossing the dangerous border of doing everything on my own and burning out? How could I hold onto a sense of independence, while still using my support system as lifelines, which I wholly believe is an integral part of wellness?
Because I love lists oh-so-much, I made one. A detailed list of times when I might ask for support, vs times I am likely being dependent on someone. And obviously, I’m now going to share it with you. #SharingIsCaring.
Support is asking for help. It is asked for when I am doing something, and I would like someone to assist, stand by my side, or offer their skillset to fill the gaps in my skillset. Support is also reaching out to a loved one when my safety is compromised.
Examples of times I might need support:
I am feeling suicidal.
I am stranded on the side of the road, and AAA isn’t coming.
I broke a bone and need someone to take me to and from the ER.
I just wrote a long essay and would like someone to proofread it.
I’m grieving a death and would like someone to go to the funeral with me.
I’ve researched the hell out of how to accomplish a task but I’ve come to a roadblock.
I’m having a relationship problem and need to talk to someone.
Dependence is relying on someone else. It is the notion that I can’t do something on my own, and would like someone to do it for me, tell me how to do it, or offer their skillset because I believe I don’t have one. Dependence is also reaching out to a loved one when I know I could actually do the task alone.
Examples of times I might be depending on someone:
I rely on someone else to entertain me when I’m bored.
I ask someone I trust to make an important decision for me.
I ask someone I trust to research a topic for I because I don’t believe I’d be able to figure it out on my own.
I wait for someone else to come help me before I start a project because I think I’ll do it wrong.
Texting my friends late at night when I am lonely because I don’t want to face my loneliness.
Not standing up to someone I love because I’m afraid I can’t survive without them.
This list has been a game changer, and also VERY annoying. Because now I am painfully aware of times when I’m leaning on my husband, parents, friends, or a stranger to do something for me, rather than asking for support. I am now faced with acknowledging moments of dependence, rather than blindly behaving out of insecurity or lack of confidence.
But oh the difference is worth it.
As a result of doing so much for myself, I started to feel powerful in my skin. I felt a sense of confidence and self-assurance that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt empowered. I started to believe that I was capable of recovering from anything. That I had strength to pull myself up and out of really dark places, all on my own, and with the tools I’d learned over the course of my life.
Yes--I am still in the middle of a meltdown. The circumstances of my life have led me here. But I’m not powerless. I’m not incapable of coping. I’m not weak or paralyzed or incapable or stupid or uncreative or tactless. I’m crafty, wise, innovative, daring, and brave. I am everything I need to be to tackle what’s ahead of me. And I finally believe that.