Temporary? Insanity

Fear. I think it started out fairly young with me. While I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s something I was born with, it seems to have been a fundamental part of my makeup from a very young age. Life situation can’t be blamed, and neither can parenting. I had it pretty easy. Well provided for. Loving parents.

I remember getting very irked over that when I wanted to write angst ridden poetry in my teens. It’s hard to be properly melodramatic when your dad is a kind, fun loving guy, and your mum has the audacity to actually understand you.

Anyway, regardless of my happy childhood, fear set in pretty early for me. I first remember it at age six or seven. I was a lover of cuddles, and would attempt to climb up into the laps of various family members. They would shoo me off, laughingly saying I was too big for that sort of thing. I didn’t laugh along with them though. I was too busy feeling hurt. Repelled. I worried that they didn’t love me as much as I thought. As much as I wanted them to. Fear gnawed away at me.

And it continued to for the next two decades or so. To the point that simply leaving the house each day became an exercise in courage. The double-edged sword which is my imagination would kick into high gear, and I’d be bombarded by fears. Fear of injury. Fear of appearing foolish. Fear of the unknown and unexpected. Fear of panic and discomfort. Fear of feeling in greater magnitude the insignifance I already ascribed to myself. That is just a small sampling of my list of Big Fears. The little ones…oh goodness, the little ones…

Fear of my shirt not being long enough and not getting a seat on the bus and therefore having to stand holding onto one of those overhead straps and flashing my belly at everyone. Fear of forgetting to pick my umbrella up when I left my seat at the library and having someone chase after me with it, making me feel like an absentminded moron. Fear of the cashier listing my total and realizing I didn’t have as much cash as I thought I did.

Most of my life was spent in calculating all the possible things to be afraid of and attempting to avoid them. I didn’t get out much. And when I did arrive home at last, my chest would literally ache from the many stirrings of chest tightening panic I’d afflicted myself with throughout the day.

That last line is key. “I’d afflicted myself with…” I didn’t clue into that until many years later. I felt like it was the world that was oppressing me. It was the world that was hard and scary and unpredictable. It was only a year or so ago that it finally hit home to me. I had that ah-ha moment. That sudden burst of the hallelujah chorus echoing in my mind.

Fear is optional.

I’d like to say I figured it out on my own. That I had a sudden attack of uncharacteristic cleverness and saved myself from years of pain and suffering by right of my own enlightenment. Truth is, it was getting married that did it. Specifically, getting married to Neil.

I never saw Neil be afraid until we had kids. Prior to that? I’d never really seen it in him. He’s a man who just lives. He leaves the house each day quite calmly. There’s no raging internal dialogue calling into question his every little decision. He doesn’t care what other people think. You might scoff at that but trust me, I’ve seen much evidence to support this theory.

There were times early in our marriage when I wondered had I married an alien? His life philosophy was that foreign to me. He doesn’t care whether people like him or not. He doesn’t lose sleep over what might or might not happen tomorrow, or what happened yesterday. He just lives. He just is.

I think I must puzzle him as much as he puzzles me some days. While he has gradually come to terms with my many fears, he doesn’t understand them. Doesn’t understand why I am sometimes reluctant to leave the house. Why I had a massive panic attack the first time I took both children somewhere on my own. Why I’ll seem to be doing so well and then suddenly start giving in to the fear again. No. He doesn’t understand it one bit.

I’m starting to understand him a little though. Somewhere along the way either he chose (or something about who he his chose for him) not to be afraid. And there’s something about seeing that close up every single day that hits home the fact I can make that choice too. There’s something remarkably freeing about seeing that choice as an actuality like that. Some days, I even manage to make it.

Today, I lived a full day without fear. Neil left for church meetings before the kids and I even got out of bed. We slept in a little and I bustled about getting us ready this morning without the slow but steady rising of panic and fear that usually presents itself at such times. I didn’t yell at the kids when they fiddle-farted around. I didn’t find my breaths coming in quick gasps or imagine all sorts of calamities that might result from my early morning slothfulness.

I just…lived.

And I feel strangely peaceful at the end of this day. Regretful over the years of fear and grief. And grateful to have at last grasped hold of the words that may help me keep this lesson in remembrance. Yes. Fear is optional.