I had a bit of a freak out earlier this week. Actually, to be completely truthful, I’m still trying to tame the freak out.
The specifics don’t really matter here. What you need to know is this – I saw a small thing. A no-thing. A thing with no supporting things to make it into some-thing.
And I initially brushed it off as the no-thing it is.
But my brain had other ideas. You see, in my first marriage, I was naive. Completely ignorant, partly from an inability to face the reality and partly because I had complete (and blind) trust in my husband. And once you’ve been fooled, you feel pretty stupid. And you vow to never be fooled again.
And so my brain, completely ignoring the facts and the current reality, tapped on my dreams, whispering, “Are you sure? Remember what happened before? Don’t be stupid.”
I awoke the first two times from those nocturnal nudgings agitated and also annoyed. Unlike marriage numero uno, I am not afraid to face reality (no matter how ugly it may be) and I also don’t have a husband that leaves maybe-they-are-things-but-his-explanation-sounds-legit behind him like a trail of breadcrumbs. So I wasn’t freaked out; I saw those questions as what they were – ghosts of marriage past.
But then the dreams came a third time. And this time was different. I awoke at 4:00 am and made my way downstairs. I felt sick from the anxiety that was building within my body. The questions took over, roiling in my mind like water on a hot stove. And as I sat there, waiting to start my coffee and my day, the no-thing grew into a big thing.
I still thought the questions were misplaced, asked years too late and directed at the wrong person, but after the third dream, I realized they needed to be asked.
And I’m so glad I did. Not only was Brock’s response perfect, but I felt my fears lift as I uttered the questions. I think my brain was just insisting that I not only face it alone, that I trust the marriage enough to face it as a team.
Now the voices have quieted, leaving me with only the residual mess to clean up.
But it’s not easy.
Finding the sweet spot between perpetual suspicion and willing blindness.
Between panic and naivete.
Learning to distinguish between past and present.
And trusting that you will see the some-things and learn to brush off the no-things.
Because if you see some-thing in every-thing, no-thing grows to fill the expectations.
Brock asked me what he could do to help. And it made me realize the futility of his position. He did nothing to cause my freak out and there’s nothing he can do to help ease the anxiety. Other than be himself and be patient with me.
Because one of the side effects of my past is that I no longer trust words (and even actions after-the-fact). They’re simply too easy to manipulate.
I feel like I spend the majority of time comfortably toeing the line between the two extremes. And it’s been quite a while since I had a freak out like this one.
And this was a good reminder not to ever get so comfortable with anything that you become complacent.
Navigating the sweet spot between naivete and panic cannot be undertaken on autopilot.
According to Cesar Millan, every bad moment is an opportunity for rehabilitation.
He doesn’t panic when a dog lunges.
He doesn’t get angry when they try to bite.
He doesn’t give up when the dog snaps.
He simply sees the moment as an opportunity.
A moment to show the dog another choice. A different way of responding. A different way of being.
I could have used Cesar the other day.
No, I didn’t try to bite anyone.
But my past tried to bite me.
Brock and I signed up for a house fund registry which meant that a significant portion of our wedding gifts were in the form of money in a joint Paypal account. We had the agreement that all funds gifted would be applied towards the house with joint decisions. All good.
And then, one morning when I checked my email between classes, I see that $500 had been withdrawn from the account. The email didn’t tell me where the money went or what the intent was behind the transfer.
It just told me that money had been taken.
It just triggered panic in my gut.
I had to endure the entire day before I would have time to log in to Paypal to see the intended destination of the funds or to ask Brock about the transfer.
My past tried to tell me that this was a nefarious move on some level – either trying to hide money or deciding to move forward on a purchase without discussion.
My past made it a bad moment.
My present recognized it as an opportunity for rehabilitation.
In my former life, I would have a) found a way to call my husband right away and demand to know what was going on (see Assumptions) or b) let my panic and anger build through the day as I imagined all of the potential scenarios that could be unraveling.
But this was an opportunity to make a choice.
This was a chance to respond differently.
I started by relaxing. Telling myself repeatedly to take deep breaths to calm the panic in the gut (that would make a good band name:) ). I reminded myself that my response was from the past, triggered by my fears of being betrayed again. My reaction had nothing to do with Brock or the actual situation at hand. I decided to believe that everything was okay. But I also made the decision to check once I got home. Not with Brock, since it was really my problem, but with Paypal.
Trust but verify.
By the time I arrived home, I wasn’t panicked. I wasn’t angry.
I didn’t even run to my computer to log in to Paypal.
But I also didn’t avoid it either.
When I finally did look at the account, I was calm. Rational. Thinking with my present mind rather than with the alarmed mind of the past. I could see clearly and interpret the numbers.
The $500? It was moved into our joint savings account. The amount was set by Paypal’s limits.
I walked down the hall to where Brock was sitting at his computer, wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you for starting to move the money into our savings.”
I never told him about my panic. That’s not his responsibility.
I’m the one who has to whisper my own life and see opportunity for rehabilitation in every bad moment.
I’ve just returned from my first ever – Gulp! – ski trip.
Experienced skiers – prepare to chuckle.
I was nervous yet excited for the trip. I was looking forward to time in the mountains (always a favorite of mine) and some quality time with my man. The nerves? Those were because I knew that I would have to face my nemesis – downhills.
Sugar Mountain on a clear day.
As we drove the last few miles to Sugar Mountain in Banner Elk, North Carolina, winter suddenly appeared. The temperature plummeted as our elevation climbed and clear skies were replaced by a steady snowfall. The slopes were obscured by the snow and haze. This was probably a good thing since I was unable to see the full extent of the hills!
View from the top. Brock took this one!
Loaded down with gear, I made my way over to the ski school while my fiance went off on his own to tackle the blue slopes. There were 15 of us in the lesson, lined up like dominoes along the gentle slopes of the school area. After learning the basics of the equipment, we were instructed to slide down the hill, one at a time, to practice the “pizza” pose (they’re used to teaching kids!) used to slow down your descent. I was the fifth one in line. Each time the instructor skied back up to the top of the line, I clarified a piece of his directions. I wanted to make sure that I understood what to do. Of course, knowledge is only the beginning – I then had to apply it. When it was my turn, I scooted out of the line and pointed my skis down the hill. With a slight push of the poles, I was off and moving. I was so focused on the placement of my feet, I neglected to be aware of my center of gravity. I overcompensated and started to fall backwards as my feet kept moving forwards. The instructor grabbed my hands and I slid between his legs. If this was a swing dancing lesson, I would have earned a gold star!
It was comforting to be in the presence of other beginners. We were all (way) out of our comfort zones. We were all scared of the skis on the slick snow. We all tried to control our speed and trajectory, some with more success than others. Some gave up. Others were cautious yet continued. And some threw themselves down the hill with reckless abandon. As for me? I’ll let you guess:)
A nervous smile and a comforting hand:)
I only had three opportunities to slide down the hill under the watchful eye of the instructor. Each time, I required his help. At the conclusion of the one hour lesson, I was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. I kept my fears in check and relaxed into the experience but this took more out of me than I could have imagined. After a brief reunion with Brock, I elected to rest for awhile and then return to the school area to practice some by myself. I was very cautious while I was practicing. There were new skiers and young children everywhere. I didn’t trust my ability to avoid them, so I spent much of my time patiently waiting for a clear path. I did discover a strength of mine during that session – I may stink at going down the hills, but I was the best in the bunch at walking uphill in skis:) New sport, maybe?
At our next meeting, Brock encouraged me to tackle the green slope with him. Now, at this point, I had done maybe ten “runs” down very mild hills that were each about ten yards long. Not exactly a lot of practice! I was hesitant. I am way more cautious than he is and I was concerned that he was trying to push me further than I was ready to go. But I trusted him and it turned out he was right.
Now, this green slope in question is a real run. It takes several minutes on a lift to get the top. Surprisingly, I was okay on that first trip to the top. I was slightly nervous, but okay. Brock was coaching me on the way, telling me what to expect and giving me encouragement. Even with the coaching, I still slid into a crumbled mess as I left the lift.
A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope – me on my first real slope!
That was my first real fall with no swing dancing moves to keep me off the snow. Much to my surprise, I was overtaken with laughter. It turns out that falling is fun. It’s just the getting up that sucks!
After much shifting and pushing and pulling, I managed to stand upright on the level surface at the top of the slope. I took a deep breath, pointed my skis down the hill, and took off. I made it about twenty feet before I fell again, a pile of Lisa shaking with laughter. That first trip down took forever. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I panicked due to speed or the proximity of others and I bailed by sitting down. But I made it and I never panicked. And, I had LOTS of practice in learning how to stand up again!
“My” slope.
As I sat in the snow at the base of the run, I realized that I had carried expectations into this trip. I thought I would be in the “classroom” the entire time. I didn’t think I would be able to complete a “real” run. I thought I would freeze in fear. It felt so good to prove myself wrong.
The next day, I tackled that same run three more times. The first one of the day held a surprise. We were on the lift, about halfway to the top, when I started to violently shake, panic moving through my body. Why was this happening? I knew the course now and I knew I could make it. I guess I had enough experience to be scared but not enough to be comfortable yet. Brock helped me refocus and breathe and the moment my skis (okay, butt – I fell immediately again!) hit the snow, I was fine.
Can’t beat those views!
Each run was better than the last. By the end, I didn’t fall at all and I only bailed twice – once soon after the lift and again midway down the steepest slope. Brock followed behind me shouting, “My baby’s a skier!”
And, I guess I am.
I love those experiences that cause me to revise my view of myself. I always said that I could not go down hills, run a race, cook a meal or write a book. I used to say I could not live without my husband. I like proving myself wrong.
It felt so amazing fully submitting to the experience, letting go and leaning forward into the ride. I found freedom in the downhills which once only held fear. Brock’s support and encouragement added to my trust fund for him. But even more importantly, I learned how to to trust in myself and in my abilities. And, I learned that I when I fall, I can get up again.
A skier!
Thanks to my new friend, Paulette, author of The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap, I am up and running (okay, maybe walking:) ) on Goodreads. I’m doing a giveaway to celebrate. If you’re interested in winning a free copy of Lessons From the End of a Marriage, visit my book page!
Being overwhelmed is a feeling I am all too familiar with. I am a planner by nature and those to-do lists seem to experience exponential growth in my hands. This can be a helpful trait, as it allows me to have many plates spinning at once without letting too many fall to floor. If fact, I can’t imagine not planning. For example, for a trip next weekend, I have to shop on Sunday, pack on Tuesday, and cook on Wednesday in order to leave on Friday. If I didn’t have my ducks in a row, we would either leave late or be hungry and naked the entire trip.
Overwhelmed (Photo credit: cosmorochester)
The problem is that I let my to-do list overwhelm me. I panic. I call myself a reverse procrastinator. I will push to get a task completed, but I do it at the beginning of the window of opportunity rather than at the end. To make things even worse, I always think the tasks will take more time than they actually do. I know this, yet I still believe my brain’s calculations and self-imposed time limits.
I’m over being overwhelmed. It’s wasted energy. Needless strife. Yes, life is full. It’s supposed to be.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, this article on Psych Central has some great tips. As for me, I am going to pack up my three outfits and two meals needed for a crazy school day, take a deep breath, and just be thankful for the peaceful commute in the autumn rain. I’ll leave the to-do list at home.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 