January 18, 2013

• Irrational Fear

  Is it normal for a grown woman to be afraid of things?  I always thought that when you got older, you lost some of the silly, more irrational fears from your childhood.  Like being afraid of the dark, or being afraid of people you don’t know, or being afraid of forgetting your lunch money or missing the bus.  Being afraid of bullies or fearing that you’re too small for an activity.

  It doesn’t work that way, though, does it?  Or maybe I’m just not normal.  ((Hey, like that would be revelation of the century.))  I’m in my late 30s, mother to five children, kissing away their tears and holding them when they’re afraid, and I’m not any braver, it seems, than they are.  Why is that?  Did I just never catch the grown-up bus?

  I’m not afraid of the dark, anymore.  But there’s a totally different explanation for that one:  I moved out of my mother’s house.  When I was little (it started when I was about seven), I became terrified of her house.  And it wasn’t just THE house – remember, I grew up military, we moved around a lot.  It was EVERY house… until I moved out on my own.  And then that repressive, dark, horrible… whatever it was no longer oppressing me.  And it was then that I realized that something had been there and it was attached to her, and by removing myself from her I didn’t have that to contend with, anymore.  ((Ironically, about three months ago my mom told me that one of my sister’s triplets is now terrified of being in any room of their house alone, and refuses to go upstairs.  She’s seven years old, I should add.  And I remember being the same way – RUNNING to keep in the same room as other people, and pretending I was just being silly and playing, when I was actually terrified out of my mind.  I feel for that child… she has over a decade of that go to through, living with Grams…))

    But I don’t mean that, I mean the other things.  And maybe it’s not just me, because now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure that’s why most people are so set into patterns and routines.  Because the familiar is safe, it’s comfortable.  Seeing the same faces means never having to speak to that stranger.  No chance of rejection or censure or anything discomforting.  Going to the same familiar haunts means that you know what will happen, will recognize the smells, colors, sounds…  We seem to find a place and nestle down, and never look past that nest.  What about what’s just outside?  I mean, it’s not like we have to travel to Portugal to see the world… the world is just outside of our doorsteps… things we have never seen can be 500 feet up the same road as we live on.

  Or am I just weird, because I want NOT to be that way, and what I’m actually afraid of is ending up… rote?  So nestled in that I don’t notice, anymore.  I find myself wondering what it would be like NOT to live in Michigan, for example.  What about the West Virginia hills, or the northeast corner of Montana, or on the craggy coast of Maine?  Or what about thinking REALLY outside of the box, and consider a city, like Pittsburg, New Orleans or Brooklyn?  Talk about out of character for the little blonde homesteader nestled in the woods!  But I think about these things.  Maybe because I haven’t tried it, it’s a sign that I’m stuck.  And worse, maybe I’m afraid of becoming stuck.  And being afraid of becoming stuck may be a sign that I’m unable to commit to a place/thing/particular way.

  I tried to deal with it last year.  I slated us to take an ‘adventure’ every weekend of the year.  Nothing big, like leaving the state, but just little hikes, visits, day trips, festivals.  It didn’t work every weekend, factoring in life, but we did manage to have a lot of them.  And even so, even after going here and trying that and seeing this… I still feel tiny and uncertain.  Even after stretching some toes outside the nest, I feel like I’ve done so little and know even less.  I feel like I’ve tried nothing at all.  And y’know, that feeling is frightening to me, too.  Because what does that mean?  Does it mean that I’m insatiable?  Or does it mean I haven’t reached the right things, yet?  Does it mean I’m trying to do something I shouldn’t be doing at all?  Sit down, shut up, and be good, Anna?

  S omeone once said that a person should never be content, because it means you’ve stopped reaching and growing.  I took it that contentedness equated to complacency, and that it was a bad thing.  But then there was that preacher who scathingly told me that as a prophet, I would never be content until I got to Heaven… like lacking contentment was a bad thing and I was going to be a pain in the ass of everyone I meet for the rest of my life.  Well, I mostly avoid people, so that hasn’t come to pass so much… although I’ll admit (and this post attests to the fact) that I am often a pain in my own ass, anyhow.

  I don’t know what I’m getting at.  It’s probably the long week of fevers and sickness, being cooped up in the house eight days straight.  Maybe it’s just the stark trees and rotting piles of leaves exposed now that the snow is gone getting to me.  It could be mid-winter blahs, come early.  But… I just have this strange, unsettled feeling, and it’s been growing and choking me up… and I don’t like that it smacks of those old familiar feelings of uncertainty that I had as a child.  I wanted to conquer those.  I wanted to build safeguards and learn counter-attacks and to be stronger and more capable… and I don’t feel like I’m anywhere near that.

  I wonder if we ever really overcome that.

  • 11:11 am
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