I experienced one of my biggest ick’s a couple of months ago.
I was in the completion week of a leadership program I had the privilege of participating in. The program took place over ninety days and with the help of a team of over forty participants and coaches, we examined our ways of being while reaching for audacious goals. It was incredibly insightful. I felt like I was shedding skin and embracing a deeper awareness of my identity; coming home to myself. For my final victory lap, I stood up in front of the group in celebration with the team, but right before this powerful moment of, I turned to a teammate and said the most bossy and controlling thing. At that moment I didn’t think anything of it, I was a proud leader, not holding back in leading my teammate to the light, but about two hours later the “ick” arrived.
The Ick- a slang term used to describe the physical manifestation that takes form in the body at the thought of an unfavorable moment in a person’s life. It often is a replay of something embarrassingly said or done, and manifests physically like a trimmer one might feel from being cold.
For days the moment haunted me. It would crawl it’s way into my mind like the creepy girl from The Ring telling me how selfish and inconsiderate I was, how I had selfishly stolen a victory from my teammate. I repeatedly played it in my mind from different angles and perspectives. I pictured my other teammate’s faces confused, my coaches sighing heavily wondering “What the hell is she doing,” every time the scene played out the trimmers would come and I would think, “Why did I do that? WHY did I do that?”
I was stuck in this loop. I finally got so sick of this particular ick, that I jokingly (but absolutely not jokingly) asked my close friends on Instagram, “how does one “un-ick?” As soon as I posted my video I was flooded with the same strangely consoling message over and over, “let me know when you find out.”
It felt good to know that this feeling of self-disgust was one that everyone experienced, but I was determined to Un-ick. I tried everything: I apologized to the person, I meditated and journaled, but I was still experiencing this uncomfortable feeling of regret and shame.
The reality is, “the Ick” is a false neurological agent of protection. It’s the ego’s attempt at stealing the mystical healing powers of the imagination for domination and control in an effort to protect itself.
It covertly consumes us, dressing up like a strict substitute teacher in tweed Chanel. It pulls out its pointer stick highlighting the cringe-worthy moment play-by-play, threatening harm if lessons aren’t learned.
It’s true unnecessary suffering. To be extreme, it’s a chosen Hell.
I believe that it’s a common thing for people engrossed in Western theology and philosophy. Most of us have grown up within self-development/self-help, Christian evangelistic culture, or what author Ken Wilbur calls “climbing religion.” These ideologies, often center around language like becoming, learning, growing, building, and striving, putting heavy emphasis on the imperfect, incomplete, not enough soul seeking to develop through reaching for some highly-esteemed and perfected identity placed at the top of the moralistic ladder, often with no distinction between necessary and unnecessary suffering because of the heavy emphasis on moral perfection. I believe that this moralistic striving is at the center of my “ick” sensation. I want to never make mistakes. Never look bad. I have become obsessed with perfected emotional intelligence. I read books, take classes, and listen to podcasts to understand how to be the best human being I can be. All in an attempt to never say the wrong things or hurt anyone. Maybe in an attempt to never be hurt, myself. I have been convinced that I must have no weaknesses, none, and if I do I dare not let people see them. And if those flaws happen to reveal themselves, and I do make a mistake, that mean-spirited teacher in their perfect suit pops out from their hiding place to say, “ah, ah, ah, that’s two steps down the ladder of growth for you hot shot,” which is when the replays begin. I critique and analyze the moment of imperfection like a sports analyst as I descend my ladder, convinced that if I replay it enough I won’t make the same mistake again. I shamefully die a little, hoping to find a way back up again. I was consumed by this moment with my teammate because I was judging myself and not giving myself grace, a true marker of the Ego. I was unwilling to accept my imperfection and so I was caught in a shame storm. My ego was in a “how could you,” battle, truly believing it could right the wrong by replaying it over and over again.
With this understanding, “Un-icking” happens through a divine resurrection of my identity as the beloved and death to the thoughts that threaten that identity by telling me I am not allowed to say or do things contrary to the image of myself I’ve created. The surrendering of moralistic perfection in exchange for a sacred embracing of how deeply loved I am within my imperfections. I can use my mind and the community of loved ones around me not as tools to punish me, but as gifts to remind me of how loved I am, even in my most cringe-worthy moments.
I am learning, no risking, embracing a different way of thinking. Franciscan Friar and author Richard Rohr, would use these words to describe an ideology more embraced in Eastern practices or “descending religions:” unlearning, letting go, surrendering, and serving others. These words come from a deep understanding of wholeness. There is no ladder to climb, no reaching, and no striving. We are one with God, fully accepted and loved as the beloved. We embrace and accept that suffering is a part of life, yet without moral perfection as the goal, we can distinguish negative, accusatory, compulsive, or self-serving thoughts, words, or behavior1, as unnecessary suffering.
So what does this look like in practice?
When I feel an Ick coming, when it arrives at my door knocking and begging to come in, I get to converse with it. It is not allowed to scream and point its accusatory finger at me or use my sacred imagination to rewrite the scenario. As a matter of fact, I get to retell the story as the Beloved. In every scene I get to write in a new character that the I and the ego often forget was there, the Omnipresent Divine. From there, I replay the scene hearing God, or the Voice of Love speak life and love over me. If I want or need to take it a step further, I let my community in. I share what happened, vulnerably with trusted friends who will not judge or ridicule me, but embrace me in grace and love.
I created this very introductory imaginative healing meditation for myself when I am feeling “Ick.” I’d love for you to have it as a tool. Here’s the video I made just for you. I hope you enjoy it.
ps I love it when you speak back to me and share with your friends!
Rohr, Richard . The Universal Christ. Convergent Books, 2021, pp. 217.