Every so often I get an overwhelming feeling come over me. I get the feeling that something’s not quite right. I can feel its approach for a couple days before its arrival.
Accompanied with this visitor, my insecurities move front stage, anxiety envelopes my being, my emotions are heightened and I feel dissociated from my body, as if I’m sitting just outside myself. This is accompanied by a brain fog that overshadows my wit and ability to handle more complex thoughts. I am emotionally fatigued and physically exhausted, dodging self-doubt. I used to be surprised every time it happened, feeling blindsided, confused and frustrated, thinking that I’d already taken care of this the last time — that I was done with whatever triggered and invited this unwelcome guest, expecting a life free of further encumbrance.
His longest visit was for a month. By then, I had been living by myself for a year and my divorce was, at long last, finalized. With my kids older and away at school, the unexpected shock of this finite realization brought the dark visitor knocking on my door. In just a couple days, I couldn’t eat, sleep or concentrate and it came on, full force — my anxiety skyrocketed so high any semblance of normal functioning had left me. I was a mess.
Yet, here I am again.
Two years later and almost 50 years old — I’m again entertaining this uninvited guest. But as I become more aware of how he creeps into my days and then leaves without a trace, I’ve realized that I learn something new each time — if I’m willing to look deeper, observe and be gentle with myself.
Taking Time To Learn
I’ve learned that just like when you inadvertently hit your thumb with a hammer and feel shooting pain, my interludes of uncertainty and unsettling are my mind’s way of letting me know that there’s something not quite right in my life. It’s my intuition telling me to stop for a moment and reflect — to listen to the emotional pain I am feeling because it has something very important to say.
Perhaps I’ve overextended myself and need to take a break, maybe it’s a relationship red flag I need to take notice of or a humbling reminder of what it feels like to be overwhelmed, fearful and riddled with anxiety. You see, in my line of work I help to support those in crisis and I need to be on top of my game. On a daily basis, I work with victims of domestic violence and sexual assault who, as a result of what’s happening to them, are feeling the very same barrage of emotions. Their bodies may be broken and bruised, but their minds are screaming to them that the life they are living is no longer working for them or healthy and they need to stop and take notice. Not only are they struggling with the situation they have found themselves in, frequently accompanied by profound humiliation and shame, but they are also crippled by the fear of moving forward into a vast black hole of uncertainty.
For myself, it’s advantageous to want to forget the blips in my life that have caused so much emotional pain and upheaval. A childhood wanting of a mother’s unconditional love, a marriage woven with unhappiness and debilitating manipulative control — the guilt of knowing your children are struggling with the reality of their parents no longer being together in addition to what normal life has decided to throw at them. All these and more, sprinkled with an understanding of the part I played and the responsibility I had in how I chose to respond then and continue to do so. My brain would much rather forget these things and not revisit the memories. In fact, there are chunks of my life that I cannot remember. In its place, there are vague, sinking feelings of disappointment and sadness associated with what should be fond memories of holidays, vacations and time spent with loved ones.
Because I have stood toe-to-toe with these challenges and lived to tell the tale, I am uniquely able to relate to my clients. However, to live in that space for extended periods of time can infiltrate your being and begin to cloud how one sees and feels about the world. So, I intentionally choose to maneuver myself into that slipstream of joy and positivity, remaining there, drafting for as long as possible. In doing so, I am able to experience the collateral beauty of my efforts and recharge my being.
The Raw Beauty of Reminders
But what about this guest who comes unannounced and at seemingly the most inopportune times — this unwanted hindrance to my peace? Upon quiet reflection, I reluctantly can see that my visitor comes as a cautionary reminder to not become complacent in my joy. A reminder of what it feels like to be exposed, trapped and desperate with thoughts of hopelessness — because I need to be reminded, if only for a few days that the possibility still exists for not only myself, but for everyone.
This visitor of mine forces me to stay balanced by allowing me to periodically experience the same emotions I’ve tried so hard to eradicate from my existence. In doing so, I continue to possess the capacity to empathize with those I encounter — whether through my work or in my own life — people also in need of understanding, compassion and hope. In turn, I am a living example of someone who has been through similar experiences and come out the other end — the reality that what feels so insurmountable at this moment can be worked through and the fact that happiness is available to each one of us — sometimes organically but most times as a continuous decision and choice, each day.
This time around, I have been able to see my guest as a blessing in disguise cloaked in self-doubt and a level of anxiety high enough so I will stop and take notice — forcing me to sideline from my joyful slipstream to pit stop, listen and refuel. I’m not going to lie — it isn’t easy, I often want to buckle. In fact, therein lies the very nature of his visit — to persevere, build resilience and grit.
I cannot be complacent for one moment and must continue to find the courage to move forward, no matter how small the step. Because, in reality, what’s the alternative?
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. … You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” I wonder what would happen next time if I welcomed my visitor with open arms, inviting him to sit with me and listen to what he has to teach me with the knowing that this too shall pass. Who knows? Maybe next time, old friend, when I know you’re coming, I’ll leave the light on.