Fear

Am I weak or am I just tired?

Am I bored or am I discontent?

Am I impatient or is this anxiety?

These are the things that I am battling with lately. It’s been hard to see the line between normal life-figuring-it-out-bump in the road vs I’m dying-please send help-cause I’m drowning.

Wait. Wait wait wait wait.

So Im casually typing this up, not knowing what direction this post will take. And I heard this term come up on the show that’s playing in my living room. The show is called Shrinking, on Apple TV.

Anyways, they are talking about a term I’ve heard 100x and I’m sure you have also. For whatever reason, it struck a cord. The term is: Fear of abandonment.

And holy cannoli. Why do I feel like an itch has been scratched hearing this today?

Maybe I do have this fear. Maybe, as I type this up, soon to be read by you, I’m having a life epiphany, right here with the glow of my tv on my face.

Now, I do want to preface this by saying, I had lovely parents growing up. My parents are loving, caring, doting, generous people. So any fear of abandonment does not stem from them.

No, I think this is an adult life earned fear that haunts me.

To be really-really-really transparent, my marriage ending robbed me of a lot of security I once had. If I had to guess off the top of my head where a lot of this “fear ”started, that would be my guess. A lot of you know me now as a single, divorced, happy go lucky person. But there are things that I had that were stolen when my marriage ended. Things I had held true and sacred and close to my chest were suddenly gone. And the absence of those things leaves a mark. A lot of the things that were taken I don’t even have names for. I just know they are gone. Deep, deep roots that were planted in me as a little girl were torn out. Beliefs about who I was, who my husband was, where my life was going, who I was going to be, all, gone with the swipe of a pen. And I can still feel the ache in my chest from such a loss. But it’s not the loss of a lousy marriage that hurts. My heart is in a better place now that it’s no longer under his care, believe me. It’s the loss of what could have been. It’s a loss of memories. Of routines. Of future plans. Of thoughts of vacations and grandkids and traveling and blah blah blah. My heart carries the weight of what could have been if he had been a better man. And maybe, just maybe, if I had been a better wife. Ugh, sucks to think it but it’s true. But when he left, I think it flipped a switch in me that I have been trying to un-flip since that day. And I’ve been standing underneath it, gripping it, shoving up, with all my strength, shoulder hurting, legs cramping, arms biting, sweat dripping, red faced and eyes tightly closed, forcing with all my might to push it in a different direction. The switch that will turn on the light to my self worth. Because I’m terrified of being dropped like a bad habit. It happens a lot. To a lot of us. I don’t think I’m unique with this fear. The belief that things are one way and all of sudden to realize that they are not. It’s taken ALOT of prayer and resilience to see the better side of things. Because, let’s be honest, if I was sharp and bitter and mean, everyone would be like “yeah, I can see how that happened”. I could see how her marriage ending and the few relationships she’s put her trust into not being worthy has closed her off. The math is mathing.

And I’m not saying I’m perfect yall. But this is my blog so let’s move on. Anyways, it’s not only about dating though. I felt this sudden loss of confidence in who I was as a person. I had a stark fear of being abandoned by my friends. My kids. By God himself. The crown of unworthiness was resting heavily on my head. It was all I could see and feel. And in the lush ground where my life had been growing and then uprooted, fear of abandonment was planted. It took hold and grew. It entwined its thorny vines into places it should never of been. Taken grips on beliefs and thoughts and boy oh boy does it hold firm. The sharp thorns piercing sensitive and hurt places. It cuts off circulation to growth. It produces flowers of fear and doubt that bloom all along its vines. This fear though, it looks like safety. Security. Blocking out all that can hurt me. Telling me it’s safer away from people. It’s easier to not care and not pursue. Sure, it’s lonely and barren but least you’re safe, right?. But in reality, it’s a cage. Just latches and locks. Keeping me away from good things. Good places. Good thoughts. And even good people. I’m trying to deweed my garden of these thorn bushes but it’s not for the faint of heart. I haven’t mastered it yet. It’s like sawing a mighty redwood tree with school safety scissors. Like, eventually I guess it could do the job but at what cost? How much time? My entire life? I can’t spend my life making space for things that are like miracle grow for the fear. This fear of abandonment. I’ve been fighting it though. I’m just scared. But you know what? I do it anyways. I do it scared.

And typing it out seems soooo easy. But fear is a mother y’all. But the kind of mother that smothers you. This fear I have is like a cloak spread over my life that mutes things. It’s muffled. And yeah it’s safe. But it’s boring. It’s quiet but not the restful quiet. More like stagnant. It’s fear the keeps me in the shallows. With shallow people. Friends and lovers alike. Fear is useful sometimes. It’s keeps us alive. But I don’t wanna just exist. I wanna live. I wanna rip off the fear cloak and breathe the scary, cool air. Hear the sounds of the beast and birds slithering along in the dark. To be afraid and do it anyway!

The more I think about these phases of my life, the more wisdom I see that King Solomon had. In the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, chapter 3, King Solomon wrote that there is a time for everything. A time for war and a time for peace. A time for sowing and a time for reaping. A time to kill and a time to heal. And on and on. I’m paraphrasing but you get the gist. And I guess I’m maybe starting to realize that it’s not necessarily that I’m “changing”. Although there has been a lot of that, it’s more that the seasons of my life are shifting. No longer is it time for tough skinned, fire tongued, sharp teeth and claws. Now, it’s time for smiles and gentle touches. Going to bed early just for the sake of rest. Not rising to the occasion when some big mouth can’t shut up. It’s saying good morning to my group chat. It’s telling my friends I love them. It’s baking brownies with my daughter. It’s showing up to my friends kickball games to cheer and root. It’s taking my son to buy his gf flowers. These things matter. And they matter so much at this moment that I literally cannot wait to be softer. Such a weird thing to say and feel. I want more opportunities to be nicer. And kinder. And gentler.

I guess I also should say I need more practice at these things. But just because I struggle with them, doesn’t mean I don’t find them joyful. You don’t have to be an expert at something to enjoy it.

I’ve been trying to put it into practice.

Guys, it’s freaking terrifying. But I’m doing it.

I did a brave thing the other day. I texted a guy first, for the first time. And he wrote me back! Is it a love match? Who knows. But that’s not the point. The point is that I mustered up the courage and I did it. And I’m proud.

There are also things I am NOT doing in this vein of being courageous.

I’m not engaging in conversations I shouldn’t be. I’m setting boundaries that before I was terrified to cause I knew it would stop the conversation. And I was 100% right. Conversation did end. But it was fear of abandonment that allowed them to continue, even though it did not serve me. So I drew a boundary and my DMs have been silent ever since. But that’s okay. I’m sitting with the awkwardness of choosing myself. I play a lot of iPhone games, watched LOTR, and the Hobbit trilogy, a movie marathon that took up quite a bit of time. I went to bed at 8:30. Been spending lots of time at home. Went to the Meghan Trainor concert with my girlfriends. Made new recipes. Been making a “movies to watch” list. Fighting the urge to cause a ruckus. Fighting the urge to dissolve my boundary. Looking for conversation but being okay with the silence. It’s been a weird road tbh. Fighting impulses. Like, I still feel them, but I am able to (sometimes) ignore them. It still sucks. The rotten feeling of being “forgotten” is still there. But it’s not so bitter in my mouth anymore. It use to taste like vinegar, harsh and haggard. Now it’s more like white chalk. Tasteless and annoying but I’ll survive. At least when I spit it out, I can see the remnants of growth in the spit bubble. Gross, but you get the picture right? 😂