That Time I Wanted to Punch the Woman with the Ice Cream

It was the summer of 2013. I was living in Ballard, an overpriced district of Seattle with cool bars, funky shops, and a bearded dude in a flannel shirt on every corner. I had just been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease a few weeks prior. The medications hadn’t kicked in yet and I was very sick. I’d been suffering for almost a year; my immune system destroying my digestive tract and leaving me with debilitating symptoms every single day.

Everything I ate ran through me at warp speed. Even benign foods like rice and broth made me sick. My joint pain was an 8 out of 10 most days. I could barely turn over in bed and my once daily walks were reduced to once-a-week slow shuffles to the pharmacy to pick up my prescriptions. I had lost 45 pounds; 25 of them over the last two months.

My life was upside down but I stayed fairly optimistic. Some days were unbearable, but I believed that my body wanted to heal and I could get better. I followed a “just one day at a time” mantra and stayed committed to getting healthy.

But this was one of those hard-hitting days. The joint pain, digestive distress, and fatigue had overwhelmed me. Days like this made my brain circle in fears about my life and my health. When I was healthy I’d have gone for a long walk on a sunny summer day, but I hadn’t been able to do that for months so I slowly made my way to the pharmacy that was one block from my house. As I shuffled, I noticed people staring, wondering why this young woman would be walking like a penguin.

Then a woman – a complete stranger – came out of the ice cream shop licking a big scoop of creamy ice cream on a waffle cone. It was mint chocolate chip. My favorite. The sweet vanilla smell of the waffle cone wafted out the door.

I wanted to scream. I was beyond jealous. I wanted an ice cream cone but I couldn't have one. I deserved an ice cream cone. Bitterness, resentment, and rage filled my body. I had been through hell and I couldn’t even have ice cream. The agony of the last year washed over me. The pain. The vulnerability. The helplessness. The deprivation.

My anger was so overwhelming that I had an urge to punch the woman in the face and scream some appalling nonsense about how unfair the world is and how she should quit eating ice cream cones because she might get a terrible disease like I did. I couldn’t understand how she was awarded ice cream while I suffered. It was SO UNFAIR.

I didn’t punch her. I didn’t scream.

I broke down instead. The tears caught me off guard. They shook me to a stop. I felt my fragile body ache. Surrender seemed like the only option. The impulse to wage a theatrical war left my body. Either I didn’t have the energy for it or I somehow knew it was destructive.

Then, in that moment of pause, I noticed my suffering. I noticed how rigid I’d become and how much I’d clung to comfort and fairness. I noticed how much I’d been hurting.

I stood there for a moment, just paying witness. Not fighting and not gripping. As I observed, the rage settled down and my body relaxed. It was like I’d watched a wave, the pain quickly building, reaching its peak, and then settling down as calmness washed over me. I even forgot about the ice cream. I became captivated by my observations, mesmerized by what I’d just witnessed in my body.

I believed I didn’t deserve the pain I was experiencing. I’d tried to eat well and exercise, and yet I wasn't being rewarded with good health. I thought I was being wronged and punished unfairly. I even bought into a nonsense story my mind had cooked up about how the lady would get a terrible disease from something as harmless as ice cream.

I believed that life should equally distribute good and bad, pleasant and unpleasant to all people, and especially me. I thought the world operated on fairness.

Maybe you can relate.

Do any of these statements sound familiar?:

“I work harder than him, why did he get promoted?”

“I take care of the kids all day, why won’t he help out?”

“I have been a good friend, why does she still treat me like dirt?”

“I texted him last time, why won’t he initiate this time?”

“I ate really well this week, but my symptoms didn’t improve.”

“I saw a new doctor but he didn’t help me at all.”

“I just washed the car and a bird shitted on it already.”

There are some things in life we have control over, but most things we do not. Life doesn’t exactly play by our rules. If you don’t get what you want now, you may not get it later. Doing something good doesn’t mean you’ll be rewarded. Doing something bad doesn’t always result in a consequence. Having suffered in the past doesn't prevent you from suffering in the future. We don’t actually deserve anything from anyone, or from life itself.

Here lies the problem: As we grip tightly to needing things to be fair and just, we lose sight of what is real and beautiful.

Things in life are temporary, limited, and imperfect. We can reduce suffering by understanding that we don’t have control over every outcome, no matter how hard we work towards it. Nor do we need to.

By not feeding my storyline and drama about deserving ice cream (and the other million things I thought I deserved), I was able to feel the pain at the moment, learn from it, and let it go. This was far more empowering and productive than punching a stranger in the face.

You might feel powerless in those difficult moments, but you still have choices. You can alter the way you perceive the situation, shifting from “this is so unfair!” to “I’m struggling with this, but I can accept that and move forward.” You can say, “Fuck fairness, I’ll be fine without it!” and move forward with grace and positivity. You can simply acknowledge your feelings and make a commitment to keep moving. You can notice your need for patience and self-compassion and set an intention to be gentle with yourself.

The story is up to you.