1/7/2018 0 Comments Expectations versus GoalsAfter a particularly difficult workout last week, I left the gym feeling disappointed in my performance, prompting a frank discussion between my husband and I.
“I don’t understand why you get upset when a workout doesn’t go well for you. No one has set any expectations for you.” “Well, that’s not true. I set expectations for myself.” “But why? Expectations suggest pressure to meet a particular standard. Why not just set goals?” I’ve thought about this extensively and the answer is not a simple one. On the southern end of my alma mater’s campus, there is a beautiful wooden bridge that provides easy passage from one side of a small ravine to another. If one is compelled to walk down the steep hill to the stream that flows through said ravine, there is a single wooden bench built about 250 feet from the bridge. It’s nothing fancy: just a plank of well-worn wood with legs that hold it up about a foot off of the ground. However, it provides a quiet, peaceful escape from campus life, along with a breathtaking view of the nature that surrounds the bridge. I know that view well. In my junior year of college, I spent many hours there, feeling guilty for flooding a perfect portrait of natural beauty with sorrowful tears. I was depressed, and the introspective part of my brain demanded a place of solitude to try to work out why. Why? I was attending an elite college with enough financial aid and scholarships to pay for 75% of my tuition. I had a mother who showed me nothing but unconditional love and made sure that I had everything I needed. I had a boyfriend who traveled traveled two hours each way to see me almost every weekend. I had great friends and family who recognized the change in my behavior and reached out to try to help me. For the most part, every external force in my life was positive. This left only one option in regard to where the problem was rooted: within myself. Coming to this realization was difficult. I had never felt more pain in my life than I had in those moments, and I was the only reason for that pain. Yet, I had no idea how to change it. I felt like a failure, defeated by the one thing in my life over which I had control. I remember calling my mom, sobbing hysterically. “Crystal, what’s wrong?” “I don’t want to be here anymore.” “Well, you can come home this weekend.” “No. I don’t want to be alive.” I felt infuriated that I would even have such a thought, and ashamed that I had spoken the words aloud. Yet, I also felt some relief. I was unhappy with myself in every way that I could imagine, but at least I now knew why I was feeling the way I was. Ironically enough, it was at the bottom of that ravine that I found myself at lowest possible point in my life, and also where I made a promise to myself to claw my way out of the depths of self loathing into which I allowed myself to fall. I would love to say that the ascent was smooth and steady. That, however, would be a lie. It took several years of slipping back down into that hole, remaining stagnant, and then finding the will to climb up again to actually start loving myself, and, in turn, finding happiness. You might be thinking, "This is a blog about weight loss, right? Why is she rambling on and on about being depressed?” Although it was not the only leg of the journey, losing weight and leading a more healthy, active lifestyle accounts for a huge part of why I am able to comfortably and candidly write about these details of my life today. A significant part of my melancholy was a direct result of my poor body image. Losing weight and pursuing fitness was the penultimate goal. However, I was aware that I needed to improve my mental and emotional well-being before I could pursue any physical goals that I had for myself. So, this all leads me back to the conversation about setting expectations versus setting goals. I wholeheartedly believe in setting goals for oneself; however, I believe that the path toward meeting those goals also requires setting expectations. When I set the goal to overcome my depression, it came with the expectation that I would take some sort of action to help me do so. The expectations were stepping stones toward achieving the goal. I could not hope to reach a goal, if I did not have the expectation that I would seek professional help, a vital step in allowing me to see beyond the haze of depression that held me back from understanding how to be comfortable with myself. Once that expectation was met, I set forth another expectation, and then another, and so forth until the goal was met. For me, setting those expectations was quite literally the difference between life and death. Although my “expectations” are not of dire consequence any longer, I still find it important to set a standard for myself. I believe that having high expectations for myself is what allows me to chip away at the things that are necessary to achieve that penultimate goal. And while it’s true that doing so will beget both success and failure, those are the things that make realizing any goal so incredibly sweet. About a year ago, I returned to that same ravine on my college’s campus. The bridge looked the same, as did the landscape, and the same bench stood next to the stream. Nothing had changed about the place, yet it was where I had made a decision that prompted significant change in myself. Another small piece of irony, forever remaining a secret between it’s steep walls.
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